


haunt you to your grave

by radicalvodkaaunt



Category: Arsenal FC - Fandom, Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, Heroin, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9320624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicalvodkaaunt/pseuds/radicalvodkaaunt
Summary: He was made of velvet and tasted of gold with a voice of silk. Olivier wanted to devour him whole.





	1. ptI Both Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Terrified by Childish Gambino, that song gave me the original idea so yeah. You can listen to a playlist for this called haunt you to your grave on spotify i've tried to link it but that won't work :(  
> I'm actually a really innocent and small child irl, so there's probably huge inaccuracies here where I've just used artistic licence let me live pls.

Olivier screwed up his eyes and rubbed a hand down his face in an attempt to wake himself up somewhat. It was late, later than he had been hoping to leave and his body wasn't enjoying the low temperatures of the night. He definitely regrets past-Olivier thinking it would be totally a good idea to walk to the office. Without money as well. There was no chance of an Uber on his way home tonight. So instead he had to resign himself to the cold streets scattered with puddles reflecting street lights masquerading as moonlight. It was almost a pretty sight, if Olivier wasn't having to walk with his shoulders shrugged and teeth chattering mindlessly, so he clenched his jaw in an attempt to stop it. He didn't even think a city could get cold anymore, what with global warming and all.

The meeting that had led to him being so late wasn't even worth his time after all, or at least it could've been left until the morning. Markets dropping was something that would be fixed in days’ time and Olivier didn't understand economics anyway, all he knew was he had to make a profit in everything he did, and that had worked out pretty well for him so far. He was one of the most successful business men in the world, except money didn’t mean that much to him, not anymore. But that's a frame of mind only the richest people will have. Olivier didn't have much humility anymore, he donated to charity and did all the good things, but he also didn't give a shit about any of it.

Olivier knew these streets from before he owned any of his multiple sports car and when he actually had to walk everywhere he went. It brought back memories he tended to forget, because he was able to live in moment now and not think about the past or future, only the present. It made him a closed-minded person, especially when the present was currently just business, business, business. Owning a business meant he had his down time whilst the employees kept it running, doing all the hard work for him whilst on minimum wage, but he tried to be a hands-on type of boss too. As long as he wasn't losing hair, the stress levels were just fine, that was his mantra.

A sharp right turn lead him into a darkened alley, buildings tall, so tall they were stretching up to the skyline either side of him, and looking up made him dizzy so he kept his eyes to the ground as he shuffled through. He wasn't in the nicest area of town, graffiti sprawled these walls and eyes were always watching you, the best way to get through was to not look up and not get involved with things you shouldn't be a part of. Olivier wasn’t used to that way of life though, he didn’t know the rules. However, he knew a drug deal when he saw one. A nod of acknowledgement, the sly flash of white that appears as packet exchanges hands and then gone without a word. Olivier was nervous, he didn’t like criminals either. Some would say that’s hypocritical of him. Oli thought he had to do something though as he unlocks his phone, eyes down as he nearly manages to call the police. Nearly.

Except his phone is slapped out his hand before he has the chance to press call and then he's frozen, heart pumping and not daring to look up as lets the hand that had been holding his phone fall uselessly to his side. The person doesn't let his beating heart settle at that as he slides to stand in front of Olivier, forcing him to look up, and it's too dark in the alleyway with no street lights or even moonlight to make out a face, but Olivier couldn't sense solidified anger. Annoyance, maybe, but not angry, not completely. Maybe Olivier could breathe now, but he doesn’t dare to.

"C'mon mate," the stranger shrouded in darkness tuts, but Olivier thinks he's smiling, though he's not sure if that's a good thing either, “There ain't no need for that is there?" He adds, taking a step towards Olivier so he has to take a step back, crowding him closer to the brick wall that’s behind him. The man feels cold and ominous and even though he's shorter than Olivier he seems more powerful, like he would take out Olivier if he really had to. That sends a bad feeling right down Olivier's spine and into his toes.

"You're too well dressed to be a cop, you into that vigilante justice bullshit?" and Olivier knew better to reply as he pushes his eyeline to the ground and took another step away, his back hitting the wall so a damp coldness seeped through his clothes, freezing his body. It was times like these Olivier was glad he kept a shitty emergency flip phone with him, just in case he needed it for whatever reason. This was definitely one of those reasons. But as soon as the man saw Olivier reach in his pocket and the phone be pulled out, well Olivier flinched but all he received was a large sigh from the other person, “Seriously dude, you'd think you were the one dealing drugs with two phones. I've been reported too many times to the police already, I really don't need to be dealing with this again," He took a step back so Olivier could breathe again, but he still doesn’t, he feels like everything will fall apart if he so much as takes in a breath. And the man sounds exasperated as he speaks again, “I’ll, I dunno, I'll suck ya dick if you don't call 'em," he murmured with a shrug.

Olivier goes bright red at that, silently thanking whatever forces exist that it was too dark to see the crimson tones. It wasn't that Olivier wasn't used to offers of sex, he got plenty of those and he took up most of them too. Maybe it was the situation he'd found himself in or the attackers silky voice but either way Olivier sucked in a breath finally and tried to force his brain to connect to his mouth, “I don't do whores," he replies and then nearly smacks himself, for that wasn't the answer he was going for, “Sorry." Olivier was in so much shit. He knew he should've planned his will early like he’d been advised to. Well it was too late and Olivier flinched at every breath that passed between the two of them, waiting for something to happen.

But the figure before him just shuffles backwards, sarcasm somehow oozed from his body language alone and Olivier nearly cringed from embarrassment at this whole exchange, “I ain't no whore, bitch," the voice speaks even as Olivier can't see his lips move anymore. Disappointing. "Just get the fuck out before I ruin your pretty boy face," he adds and Olivier let's out a sigh of relief as he shuffles past awkwardly, not daring to look over at the others face. Even in the darkness he had been able to see sharp angles and glints of bright white teeth and Olivier would rather not look lest he end up falling for a drug dealer. That would be the last thing he'd need on his reputation.

So Olivier strides quickly down the street, not without stopping at the glow of his phone screen lying in a puddle on the floor, the screen receiving a distinct scratch and the lock button unremarkably not working. Olivier isn't going to complain about the broken phone that he pushes into his pocket to the man, he just let out a soft sigh that turned into white air in the cold night and set off, trying to slow his heart beat that was pounding in his ears. He's never walking anywhere ever again.

 

-

 

Olivier paced his kitchen as if his life depended on it, circling around and around the marble island that sat in the middle and it was a surprise he hasn't gotten dizzy. He had better things to be doing, like replying to emails or making phone calls. Instead he had chewed his lip so hard it had bled, so then he bit his nails instead. The skin was still intact but that wasn't going to last long if he didn't stop his current activity, so he forced himself to sit down. However his leg bounced up and down with anxieties and Olivier wished he could just forget the whole idea.

The reason Olivier had gotten himself so worked up, well he just couldn't move on from the night a week ago where he potentially nearly died. And the reasons he was remembering it so vividly was all the wrong reasons. The attacker, which didn't seem the correct term, but Olivier also couldn't describe him in any other type of way, just seemed to say his harsh words in such a silky smooth way. He seemed to glide when he walked, even if Olivier had only see him take around 5 steps, it was like he was on ice whilst Olivier had his feet trapped in quicksand, until he was being swallowed whole. He was choking on anxieties that he would never see this person, and the conflict that he shouldn't want to see him again either

So Olivier didn't know what to do. That was his basic conclusion. The complicated one involved kicking himself that he didn't take up the offer given to him, cause who actually turns down a blowjob when they get the chance. But again another part of him was wishing he'd never tried to report the man in the first place and had just put his head down and left. Cause now he was in this fucked situation where he didn't know what he was going to do. There wasn't even any solid chance of Olivier even finding this man again, after all he didn't get a good look at his face, all he knows is his voice. Olivier loves his voice.

The problem with Oli, the reason he's overcome by this situation, is that anything Olivier has ever wanted he's gotten. He was that child who never had to ask twice and had everything they could ever want and more. Of course, that hadn't led to good character traits, a huge flaw being impatient. If Olivier wasn't receiving the thing he wants within the day he was angry, there no denying it. He knows this is a result of getting everything he's asked for as soon as he has, and he can't help but hate himself for being so spoilt, yet at the same time he knows he lucky he is. He wouldn't be surprised if he was part of the streets and dealing drugs just like that man if he hadn't been brought up within the wealthy family. It's bad to admit, but the truth nonetheless.

Olivier groaned. He could just wait, just forget it happened. He could move on to the next person, it should be so easy, he shouldn't want to see this man again. Yet he was so very inexplicably drawn to him, an itch under his skin that begged to be scratched, but Olivier couldn't reach it himself. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry. He wasn't going to do any of that. 

He would go back, back to that alleyway. And if he was there, well Olivier would think of a plan once he got there. And if he wasn't then that was the universe telling him to move on with his dull and boring life. And suddenly Olivier could breathe again. His life was sorted, his plans were made and he could follow them methodically like everything else. It was all going to work out great.

 

-

Olivier made sure it was the exact same time and place and day to return to that alley, the one he thought he knew so well. He made sure to try and look inconspicuous, dressed in all black and keeping his hood up as he walked and damn he should've taken his car, why doesn't he just take the damn car anywhere! There were no puddles tonight, and Olivier had bought a new phone that was water resistant, just in case the same fate was brought upon him as before.

That was the one thing Olivier hadn't brought into consideration, the alley man’s reaction to him being there. He didn't seem like a violent man, maybe not unless he had to be, but Olivier coming back would be a good enough reason to throw some punches perhaps. Because Olivier doubted his presence would be accepted, that he'd be welcomed with open arms. He wasn't sure what was going to happen.

And that brought a certain sense of exhilaration that dipping markets and making a big sale can't do. He was living his life a little closer to the edge, putting himself into situations he shouldn't be in just because he could, and he wanted too. He was making the first few steps towards the unknown and he wanted to take the rest of his strides towards the void with the stranger he dreamed to know better. And this was his only chance to do so, before he went back to his ordinary life surrounded by ordinary people. He needed this for himself, before he combusted between handshakes and fake smiles.

And therefore he strayed from the ordinary path, making a sharp turn into a darker area, shaded by buildings that looked half abandoned anyway. Useless. And he was there, leant nonchalantly against a wall, phone in hand that lit up his face in the dim light. Olivier froze then. He didn't know what he was doing, what he was getting himself into. Was he supposed to just approach him, he wasn't looking for drugs but that would be how it'd seem. He swallowed heavily, his hand twitching and he was about to turn and just leave, feeling the beginnings of panic to trace across his mind. But before he could move he was trapped by the gaze of the other, locking him in position. He felt like a deer that had leapt into the motorway.

The man peeled himself from the wall, wandering over with curiosity more than anything, like a puppy finding a new play thing, giving it a quick look before they tear it apart. Olivier was waiting for the first punch, bracing himself. "So, you here for drugs, or the other offer?" he asked, pulling Olivier's hood of his head, circling him like a wolf his prey and despite the cold Olivier was exposed to, he can’t help that his cheeks grow hot and red, knowing exactly what he means by that, “Cause that one’s off the table now, you gotta be quick in these parts love."

He paused and stood in front of Olivier and everything about him seemed bad, right down to the dirt under his nails and Olivier didn't belong with people like this, yet here he was. Unable to speak but still there. He took a deep breath as the other carried on speaking, able to talk for the both of them, “Though you do have a pretty enough face, I suppose you could do," he said with a shrug. He's so casual and Olivier dreams of having that kind of demeanor as heat picked up further across his skin.

"I'd like to believe I’m more than 'pretty enough'," Oliver replied, voice quiet but still there. And the other grins bright white, blinding him with less than angelic beauty, he was the devil still faking at being an angel yet Olivier did not know what to believe. But he could play at being as self-obsessed as people think he is, people somehow thought it was charming and Olivier hoped it worked on this man as well as it has on all the others. Really Olivier doesn't think he's much of anything, but he sees the way people look at him, men and women alike. He attracted attractive people and that was enough validation for him. This man was just another project to get the extra attention Olivier didn't need, but desperately wanted nonetheless.

"Cocky piece of shit," He mutters, shaking his head, still grinning as if it will kill him if he stops. He could either look crazy or beautiful, but it was too dark to tell. "You got a name then?" he asks, and Olivier smiles slightly, at the knowledge that this man wanted to know him. He wasn't going to swing a knife at Olivier and tell him to leave. It only worries Olivier slightly that he hadn't thought of that possibility properly beforehand.

"Olivier," he replies softly, enticing the other closer just so he could hear him. It was all going to plan, Olivier had this situation perfectly in control. He wasn’t drowning in unknown waters, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The other laughed at that for some reason, as if the name alone was a punchline to a joke Olivier didn't realise was happening. He was half expecting cameras to come out and film him speaking to the shady man he shouldn't be speaking to at any point of his life, exposing him as drug obsessed and his job would finally be taken by someone more worthy. "That shit a posh version of Oliver or some shit," he's still laughing and Olivier doesn't really think it's that funny, but he lets out an uncomfortable laugh anyway. May as well agree with him, if it would move the conversation the right way.

"It's French," he replies, “So yeah, the posh version," he adds, seeing as everyone's stereotype of France is some posh city full of twats, and Olivier is a walking version of that stereotype, so he doesn't help it much. And he makes the other laugh as well, which isn't much of an achievement but it fills him with warmth anyway. It was a type of warmth he couldn't describe, like when you're sat indoors but it's pouring with rain outside. You're warm with a blanket, but there's only a wall between you and the perils of the weather outside. That was how it felt, like the other could snap at any second, and the walls would just fall. "And your name?" Olivier asks instead, shoving away his worries.

The other snorts at that, shaking his head as if the ask is ridiculous, and Oliver tenses, ready for the first brick to fall, “To my standard we're not on first name basis babe," he replies, smiling a dangerous smile Olivier can't help but want to truly get to know, “You can just call me Xhaka for now, and if that ain't good enough u can fuck off," Xhaka replies, his whole body language giving the demeanor that he is expecting Olivier to go right there and then. Well thankfully Olivier is a stubborn piece of shit and if he came out for this one thing he was going to get it. So he stood stock still while the shorter one accepted his fate, that he was going to be stuck with Olivier, maybe for a while.

Xhaka shrugged, understanding he was going to have this figure following him for at least the rest of the night, “Well believe it or not I don't spend all my time stood here," he laughs and he almost sounds awkward, something Olivier didn't think he'd be capable of. He really was expecting Oli to leave, but Olivier is obsessed with mystery and Xhaka is a living embodiment of one “Let’s go then." He pushes past Olivier forcefully, but somehow Olivier doesn't believe that the contact has any resentment behind it. So he graciously turns and follows him, a docile puppy behind his new owner. Olivier doesn't know where such submissive nature has come from.

So they walk in silence down bright streets and dark alleys, Xhaka winding a route he must've walked hundreds of times before, head down and mouth set in a straight line. People were always around in this city no matter what the time, and this was no exception as they slipped between groups of drunken laughs to reach their destination. Olivier thought it was wickedly stupid of him to be blindly following the other man, whose name he didn't even know, but he did anyway, noting each street they took in case he had to make a hasty getaway. He really hoped that wouldn't be the case. The moon was obscured by the shining street lamps and everything about this felt unnatural, yet Olivier felt completely comfortable.

It wasn't a long time until they reached the clubbing district of the city, filled with neon lights and college kids, more alcohol kept in the one area than the rest of the city, most likely. Olivier hadn't been to this area since his own university days, since then he had avoided the area entirely, feeling like he was growing up too quickly and no longer 'down with the kids' or whatever. Maybe the first problem is saying 'down with the kids'. Either way, this was where he had ended up and he wasn't going to leave just because it forced him to reminisce on his misspent youth. He was starting to feel like he would follow this man to the ends of the Earth however, Olivier should keep his own boundaries up too.

"This way," Xhaka mumbles lowly, pushing his own hood up as if he's trying to make himself seem as if he's no longer there. In the dark patches of the street it nearly worked, like a malfunctioning invisibility cloak. Either way, he turned and pulled the hood of Olivier's own jacket over his head, patting his cheek as if it's comforting, but his hands are cold and it stings his face. And then Olivier is following again, wondering where it is they're going that they shouldn't be in at all.

They slide into a tiny alley, music pumping from the buildings either side as if they are competing to see which is loudest, and they probably were. The alley is damp and smells of mold and Olivier kicks a needle in his path to the side. He most definitely doesn't belong around here. Xhaka seems to be talking to a man, who is also clad in all black and is menacingly glaring at Olivier, and Xhaka waves his hands dismissively, as if Olivier was hardly there. And then again he wasn't meant to be there anyway, so it makes sense. He keeps his head down and doesn't look at the eyes of the guard, at least that's what it seemed he was, whilst he was stuck in this freezing fucking alley. Olivier officially hated alleyways.

Eventually the doors are squeaked open and Xhaka is beckoning Olivier in, the music seemingly a multitude times louder once the doors were open, and Olivier sucked in a deep breath and made his way forward. He brushes past the tall scary man who held the door open for the two of them, staring downwards the whole time and he's sure he hears the other man hiss in his ear, “Don’t get yourself in trouble, big man," But maybe Olivier is just dreaming it beneath the huge speakers booming out. Stepping into those doors felt like stepping into a whole new world he'd forgotten existed. A world full of grinding young people and too drunk flirting.

Music Olivier didn't recognize filtered into his ears and the lights glared into his eyes, causing him to squint as they change between every colour in the spectrum. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't goddamn be here. "I've got business to do, don't come looking for me," Xhaka shouts in Olivier's ear but it sounds like a whisper over the music and Olivier glances at him, eyes wide and heart pumping in time to the music. So he'd come just to be ditched, leaving Olivier wondering why he'd been allowed to come in the first place. "Don't look so shocked love, I'll be back, gimme a while though," he adds as if he could sense the tension in Olivier's shoulders despite the foggy atmosphere that seemed to claustrophobe everything people were feeling, or trying to feel.

And so he leaves, ducking through an overcrowded space until he's disappeared within the mass of bodies. And then Olivier is alone in a room he doesn't belong too and he can already feel the eyes of girls he's not interested in watching him, like predators eyeing their prey. He felt as cowardice as a cat when he turned his back and stalked off to the bar, a blue glow of salvation within a room of red. People were yelling over the music at bored bartenders who were faking smiles above sleep deprived eyes, and Olivier found a seat at the end, a small corner of safety in this pit of despair. He kept his eyes below him, down the small staircase to the floor, where he was able to see everybody and nobody at the same time. They all seemed to move and congregate together, despite the obvious drunken limbs flailing and the occasional lightweight falling on the floor. Olivier used to be a part of that. He grew up.

"You ordering mate?" a woman behind the bar asked, a 4 minute lull in the area because 'Oh my GOD this is _my_ song, Bradley!' but it's everyone's song and all these people are exactly the same. Olivier turns around, wanting to get drunk but not wanting to become part of the rest of the mass. He had to keep watching and keep waiting and keep hoping that the whole fucking reason he was here would return. Maybe he should take a drink before he gets too angry. The bartender has a face Olivier will never remember and she doesn't bother to smile and Olivier is grateful because he doesn't want to be another part of the process of faking every action. He wanted people to be real, this was as close to it as he was going to get.

So he sips on his beer and he waits and he stares and then he sees. He shouldn't be shocked with what he sees but he is anyway, but they were nothing and everyone here is drunk so why should Olivier even care. But seeing some tall girl stick her tongue down Xhaka's throat strikes a nerve. Anger? Sadness? Jealousy? Most likely a mixture of all three, making him simply feel down, his stomach dropping completely. And yet, still he waits because maybe he'll get an explanation as the two split apart and walk away like nothing. Olivier shouldn't expect anything from this man, yet he wants everything. Once he sets his sight on something he becomes desperate to receive it and this is no different, but he isn't drunk enough for this and yet he feels lightheaded as Xhaka makes eye contact with him, looking out from under his eyelashes in a fashion that stops the whole room, so it is only the two of them left. That look could fucking kill.

And Xhaka stalks his prey, a smile on his lips that reveal gleaming fangs and Olivier can feel his heart beat too fast, but the blood is going straight to his crotch and he doesn't care what this man does to him, he'll love it whatever. "Told you I wouldn't keep you too long," the music seems to get darker and louder, low beats of bass drumming through Olivier's bones that seem to emphasise every one of the others words, “Sure you didn't mind, did ya baby?" He speaks with a tongue made of silk and Olivier sinks into every word like it's a luxury, like they matter. It's all fabricated lies and Olivier is okay with that too as long as he gets to hear them. 

"Who was the girl?" As Olivier does have to ask. He can't let it go just like that, because believe it or not, Olivier has a few morals, not many, if you search up his company for more than five minutes you'd realise that. But that isn't the point, he needed to know exactly what was happening now before he dedicated himself to the long run. Xhaka grins dangerously, he's so dangerous and that's what attracts Olivier, the other is a guilty pleasure no man ever explores, but this was his chance and he wanted to know every level of Xhaka's behaviour, so he can live the full dream he's never admitted to be wanting. Not until now.

Xhaka doesn't answer, he pulls Olivier up from the lonely corner, dragging him to the dance floor, although Olivier would hardly call it dancing. He's sure he hears the bartender from before sigh as if she were disappointed in him, but Olivier doesn't know why until they are in the middle of the floor, the lights blinding and all Olivier can see is Xhaka. Xhaka, who is illuminated from behind by burning white lights like an angel sent from heaven, but the way he smiles so pseudo-innocently shows Olivier hasn't been completely fooled yet. Yet being the operative word.

"You ever done E?" Xhaka asks, whispering in Olivier's ear, though it's probably shouting in reality and he hangs his arms loosely around Olivier's neck on his shoulders. They could be slow dancing at a high school dance except Olivier never went to those.

And maybe he's too old, or maybe he never paid enough attention at school during drug lectures, so he has to ask, "E?"

Xhaka rolls his eyes so violently Olivier worried for him slightly, “Ecstasy, X, MDMA," he replies exasperated, a smile on his face, but it's a sarcastic one and Olivier curses his ignorance, "You don't do your research before hanging out with a known drug dealer?" He adds with a laugh and Olivier wonders if this man is high himself. That's probably not a real question though, of course he's high on something. What it would be, Olivier wouldn't be able to guess, "Do you wanna try or nah?" he adds, mood changing as he tips his head forwards from where he was talking in Olivier's ear to suck on his ear lobe as if that's ever appropriate. And of course the feeling of wet lips on his skin turns Olivier on, so he finds himself nodding as soon as Xhaka lets go, fangs on show again and this time Olivier would let the man murder him and rip him to shreds just so he could feel those teeth on his body once again. And it feels like Xhaka was reading his mind as he pressed his lips hot and heavy on Olivier's.

His lips were soft and he slid his tongue into Olivier's mouth with a sense of urgency that Olivier had been feeling the entire night leading up to this point. Their bodies were being pushed together by the people around them, but all Olivier can feel is the body pressed in front of him, the fact his lungs were being compressed didn't worry him. He wouldn't be able to breathe anyway, given the way Xhaka seems to be stealing every single one of his breaths and taking them for his own, the goddamn thief. Xhaka is tripping forwards and his whole body is pressed to Olivier like they are melded together, like they are the same person. From the outside-in they are total opposites, yet in that moment they were he moon and the sun, different, but still functioning for the same reason. For each other.

Olivier didn't believe anything was wrong, and he prayed that there wasn't either, as Xhaka tugs his head back with a force so sharp Olivier has to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelping in a manner that would be the entire opposite of his demeanor. It was then that he noticed the thing on his tongue, a small pill. Olivier had completely forgotten about all of that, and now it clicks why Xhaka was making out with people and just leaving so casually, as well. And before Olivier can open his mouth to say anything, he is shushed, finger pressed to his lips and all, so Olivier is paying extreme attention and was even more than turned on when Xhaka says, "Just swallow," with that stupid fucking smirk.

So Olivier swallows, like the good boy he is, or the submissive little bitch. It depends who you ask, some would probably answer that they're the same things anyway. And yeah he's expecting something to happen straight away, he's naive and doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't even know the effects of what he's just taken. He opens his mouth just so Xhaka can see that he's swallowed the pill, but that is ignored as his mouth is pressed to the others almost immediately. He's so sharp, daggers of teeth biting into Olivier's lips, and tongue pressing into every crevice it can find. Olivier can't hear anything but a low buzz in his ears and all he can feel is Xhaka. He's lightheaded but so fucking grounded as well, like a helium balloon Xhaka has tired around his little finger, following his movement like a shadow.

It doesn't take long for Olivier to get used to the sheer ferocity that is Xhaka. He goes from light and soft, kissing on top of Olivier's lips like he means something to him. But within seconds he's digging his teeth into those same lips, tugging at them like he's trying to tears Olivier apart, and Olivier would annoyingly let him. And Olivier can feel Xhaka's body rock against him, slow and sure about himself, gliding his hips in time with a thrum of the bass coming from the speakers directly above like an angel singing from heaven. And the bass mixes with the static in his head to release a dirty sound of reality and his own version of reality. The way he remembers it will be nothing like how Xhaka remembers it, considering Xhaka probably won't remember it. But Olivier forces their lips apart, despite the firm grip in his hair he hadn't noticed was there, and he ducks his head down, tasting the skin around Xhaka's jawline, slowly, but not gently. He pulled at the skin with his teeth, sucking along as Xhaka's fingers wind through Olivier's hair, and Olivier hoped multiple marks would appear the next morning, just as proof he was here, proof this had actually happened.

And time passes quickly as they are lost between each other, Olivier's vision being the first thing he truly notices. "Oh my god. Oh my god, oh god," he whispers, as colours became more than colours and Olivier is sure he can taste gold on his tongue, metal and cold and delicious. Xhaka laughs, but it sounds like so much more, becoming part of the music that suddenly seems so distant. In fact everything feels distant and he grabs hold of Xhaka to make sure he doesn't float away completely.

"Guys don't usually speak like that until we're fucking," Xhaka whispers lowly in Oliver's ear, and suddenly everything is so close, so bright and so close but Olivier isn't squinting. He could land on the bloody sun and wouldn't need to squint. Except the sun was in front of him anyway and he's fucking beautiful and radiant and shining rays of fire. He feels like fire too, burning hot and just out of reach. You can't hold him cause he's not really there and yet Olivier is desperate to know what it feels like anyway. He would always watch the fire as a child, watch it move and grow and die. Now he was a part of that.

Olivier continued to drag his teeth and tongue across Xhaka's neck, able to feel his pulse in his lips and he finally feels like he may have the upper hand again, like he's finally taking over as Xhaka somehow manages to pull him even closer, "Want you so bad," Olivier mumbles, lips moving to drag across Xhaka's lips and cheek and ear, "Could take you right here, right now," he adds lowly, voice barely a drawl as he moves his hands across Xhaka's body, down to his crotch until Xhaka chuckles, taking a step back, though it's barely a shuffle in the closely packed space. But Olivier knows when's he's wanted, even when his whole body feels both hot and cold and his fingertips are tingling. He knows what's he's doing even when he doesn't.

"Hang on there big boy," Xhaka replies, grinning but he's doesn't look fierce anymore, his eyes were huge like a puppys’ and he has a hand on Olivier's chest that could burn an imprint onto his soul, "Let's get somewhere with a bed, yeh?" and since when has he been the sensible, reasonable, boring one? Olivier visibly pouted, not wanting to leave, not really wanting to move from his current position. His body was burning with everybody that knocked into him in the tight space but those bodies weren't the ones he wanted to bang into. A fire ignited under his skin every time someone he didn't want brushed against him, and his mouth was so dry, his tongue was a desert and Xhaka's was a the oasis he needed to survive this.

So Olivier picks Xhaka's hand in his, holding it so tightly even as he feels like everything is slipping away from him. He was above the whole world, and he could obliterate anyone he wants. He chooses the man whose bones are near crushing due to Olivier's grip on him. People feel like liquid when he touches them, hot molten metal that his fingers dip into just for him to hiss and retract his hands, but there's no red marks on his hand. He can feel his pulse in his head and fingertips but not in his chest, and Olivier could be dying if the world didn't feel so perfect. He's never breathed so freely before. Every breath tastes of mint and sweat and smoke, but his lungs aren't being corrupted. It's the first fresh air the organs have ever felt.

They get to the very edge of the crowd, where lonely souls wait for another one to join them and people cry whilst sitting on steps, but Olivier is not those people. He whips around fast enough to get whiplash and kisses Xhaka with every part of the passion that lingers in his body. His whole body fits the shorter mans, craning his neck downwards whilst Xhaka has to lean upwards, hands on Olivier's shoulders for support, but Olivier wants to pick him up so Xhaka's legs are wrapped around his waist and walk the way home like that. Or get to a point where Xhaka gives up waiting and let's Olivier fuck him against the nearest wall. Oli had never thought himself as an exhibitionist until he met Xhaka. However Olivier's arms and legs are like jelly and he can barely hold himself up, so instead he lets Xhaka lead the way as he tried to clear the foggy haze of his own mind, blinking rapidly but the lights never truly disappear.

They go out the way they came except there is no scary man waiting there, and Olivier would say something if he didn't feel like his throat would rip apart. The noises of the street were so loud, but they couldn't beat the music of each club, and it was a clusterfuck of everything happening all at once, but Oliver was _feeling_. He was feeling so good, like this was how life should be lived. Life wasn't offices and pay checks, it was being able to see every colour of the spectrum plus a few more and to have sex with a man you thought would only be available in your dreams. Olivier was living a new perfect life, and the screech of car brakes like the screams of the tortured in his ears wasn't going to ruin any of this. He has a strong hand around his waist, guiding his feet that don't feel attached to his body anymore in the direction of streetlamps and headlights and so much light! It felt like heaven and Xhaka was the most beautiful angel God could've created.

Olivier was hustled into a taxi before he realised one was in front of him and then he feels safe. Because Xhaka is kissing along his jaw and down his neck, and streetlights flash past, illuminating and dimming the scene he doesn't really realise he's experiencing this. He's moving off into another dimension, an out of body experience. He can't see God but he can see him himself, and that's close enough. Xhaka has hands all over Olivier, so subtle on the outside, but the way Oli shuffles and whines tells a different story. He's desperate for every touch he receives, he wants more, he wants everything. He's swallowing every breath with a moan because he's out of control. After all, his conscience is gone and all that's left is a hollow body controlled purely by hormones, his entire mind outside the taxi looking in. He can't hear anything due to thick glass and dull music thumping along, playing to cover the activities in the backseat, but he can see every little reaction he's making, Olivier knows every noise he'd make, he knows himself, he is himself. Suddenly Olivier can feel every burning touch from ice cold hands and his lungs wheezing for breath and all he can do is kiss Xhaka, that's all he can comprehend in his state.

But Olivier doesn't get enough time acting on his single instinct left as the taxi pulls up, Olivier unable to remember himself telling the driver his own address, but that was where they were. Oli gave the driver a hundred dollar bill because it was the first note he found and he wasn't in the mood to waste time, pulling Xhaka out the taxi and slamming the door with more force than he realised he was exerting, and finally he was taking Xhaka home.

He didn't say anything as he stumbled through the lobby area, but he could see the distorted version of Xhaka's face, he knows this is the fanciest place the other man has been. It has a huge fucking chandelier in the middle of the room, it's the poshest place Olivier has been to too. Each light is too bright as it gleams off the crystals of said chandelier with a glory which Olivier could aliken to the sun and his eyes are burning in the same fashion when the elevator dings and the two walk in.

Even the elevator is fancy, but Olivier doesn't give a shit if he destroys the paintwork, crowding Xhaka into the corning, kissing him hard and pressing him harder against the wall as Xhaka finally entwines both legs around Oli's waist, making him gasp for breath in the best possible way. Olivier can feel his hair being tugged and his scalp massaged in time with the way he bites and licks at Xhaka's lips, his whole body numb to a point where he can only feel his mouth atop of Xhaka's. And that area is hot like an oven, burning away at the flesh below, and Xhaka makes more noise than Oli, whining and whimpering in pathetic fashion as he begs for so much more. Something Olivier will give in due course. And Xhaka doesn't seemed concerned by anyone walking into the elevator and seeing the scene playing out and Oli isn't worried either, because this is his own fucking private elevator and they could fuck in there if they hadn't already reached Olivier's floor.

So they break away, if only for a second, to stumble into the open area as the elevator doors slide shut behind them. Olivier can feel the floor move under his feet and the bright white of marble floors scorches his eyes even as the lights are off, so he closes them and kisses Xhaka with the intent of never having to open his eyes again. Sadly he can't live with that promise to himself, because he can't stop looking at how beautiful Xhaka is, illuminated by the ever present lights outside of floor to ceiling windows that engulf the whole room with fake lights of buildings and planes and everything in between. And Xhaka breaks apart too, he speaks for the first time in a while, or maybe this is the first time Olivier is hearing him, "Fuck, you never mentioned you were rich," he mumbles, a sound of awe in his voice as he glances around to be greeted by sofas made to envision grandeur and a kitchen top flight chefs would be desperate to cook in. But Olivier doesn't give a shit about all that stuff, his bedroom is upstairs and he doesn't want to wait any longer.

So he whines and nibbles Xhaka's earlobe so he can understand exactly what Olivier is trying to say, and somehow he does. He toes his shoes off and helps Olivier up the stairs since his whole world is off-kilter and fading in and out of existence, without the loud noises and bright lights it's nauseating. But Xhaka's hands are so warm now as they run themselves under the shirt Olivier is wearing and sucking the back of his neck softly, supporting Oli from behind as he shows the way to his bedroom. Which was one of five. There were six bathrooms too. Olivier could make so much money just renting out the extra rooms. "Didn't know two floor flats existed like this," Xhaka mumbles in his ear, his voice scratchy, a low rumble emitting from his chest upwards and Olivier can just smile. There's too much, but too little activity happening along his body for him to concentrate.

He whips the door of his room open with a vigour Olivier didn't think he had, and Xhaka is gazing around again, speechless and Olivier knows the room is beautiful in the 'suffocating in luxury' way, but he was used to it. He doesn’t even notice it. So, he shuffles Xhaka backwards, capturing his swollen red lips with his own as Xhaka's thighs hit the back of the bed, Olivier pushing him backwards until he was laid out on his back across silken sheets that matched his skin in their smoothness. Olivier was quick to remove the sweatshirt from Xhaka's body, noting every single rib that juts out from underneath the thin layer of skin as Xhaka stretches his arms over his head, lithe as a cat. The noises he makes are close to a purr too and he smirks at Oli like he somehow has a slither of composure left in him as Olivier slides to his tongue from Xhaka's belly button up to his jaw, smooth skin gliding in an effortless motion. Xhaka tastes of sweat and smoke across every inch on his skin, and Oli smiles against the crook of his neck as Xhaka writhes below him, that previous composure gone very quickly.

Olivier removes his own jumper, then his jeans as well as Xhaka has done the same. And when he leans down to continue marking every inch of Xhaka's body. He can feel the increasing thump of his heart and the heat that Olivier absorbs himself, every inch of his body just so warm in Xhaka's presence. Olivier kisses every part of Xhaka's body, poking his tongue between each crevice of his ribs, nibbling across the skin across his collarbones and marking with bruises the area just above his hips. Xhaka was whining desperately below him, lifting his hips upwards so his boxer-clad erection is just under Olivier's nose. But Olivier just smirks, brushing his lips dryly across the fabric before moving to Xhaka's thighs, sucking on the skin slowly, loving the feel and the heat of it under his skin, and his fingers had to dig into Xhaka's hip bones to stop him from doing anything Olivier didn't want as Xhaka grumbles, "Fucking tease," from under his breath and Olivier flicks his tongue across the skin on his thighs. But Oli just smirks, continuing to nip and lick along the expanse of skin, he just can’t get enough, he never wants this to end. Xhaka is metallic and yet somehow soft, and God so, so smooth. Olivier thinks he’s in love.

But eventually Olivier's own erection takes control of his head, so he moves up slightly, taking the waistband of Xhaka's boxers in his teeth and removing them in that fashion, Xhaka watching from under his eyelids and biting his lip so hard blood was becoming visible. Olivier moans lowly at the sight. And Olivier swipes his tongue across his own teeth, grinning at Xhaka in a fashion he knows is cocky. And Xhaka frowns at him, unimpressed by Oli’s showboating, so Olivier ducks his head down, pressing delicate kisses against Xhaka's cock as to make up for time wasted. And Olivier decides he's forgiven by Xhaka as he let's out a low, long, rumbling moan and his head presses down hard against the too soft mattress.

However, Olivier doesn't spend more than a few moments on Xhaka's cock, seeing as his own was in desperate need of attention, and Xhaka didn't seem to be in the mood to waste time anymore. Oli leans over Xhaka, blindly feeling around one of his draws, holding his breath because Xhaka takes this as an invitation to swipe his tongue across his nipple, Oli letting out a small whine of frustration as well as pleasure until he finds at the back, underneath socks and charging wires the lube and condom he'd been looking for, removing his body away from Xhaka's devilish tongue.

Olivier was quick to cover his fingers with lube, licking his lips and then Xhaka's as he inserts the first finger, a gasp fit for pornography emitting from Xhaka's lips as his hips jut upwards to meet Oli's finger. Olivier just nibbles around Xhaka's jaw, muttering soft compliments, but white noise is beginning to overlay his own hearing, that and Xhaka's breathing. That was all he could hear and that was all he needed too. Xhaka lets out the silkiest of moans, just how Olivier would’ve expected, each one penetrating the dizzying drone in his ears, and Olivier just continued doing what he knew, what he knew felt good. Inserting two fingers and scissoring them out, crooking them as Xhaka writhes below him with distorted whines that lets Olivier know he's reached the right place. Oli smirks, kissing Xhaka's lips even as he hisses at a third finger being added, "Just get on with it you bastard," he says, trying to display anger whilst Olivier tries to shut him up by fucking into him with his fingers alone, "I don't need all this fucking prep time," he says, he's yelling but it's in pleasure which only makes Olivier's smirk turn into a smug grin.

"You make it sound like you've got somewhere to be," he mumbles lowly, removing his fingers which makes Xhaka whine indignantly at the loss of the touch, and you just can't please the man. Oli then removes his own boxers, dropping them to the floor and pulling a condom along with lube whilst Xhaka just watches, both lust and impatience in his eyes. And it's completely dark in the room, but Olivier can still see every expression as he presses into Xhaka. He squeezes his eyes shut and gasps loudly at the feeling and Oli slowly eases his way in, pressing his lips atop Xhaka's forehead as a low moan rumbles through his chest at finally getting what he had been wanting for so long.

Olivier starts slow, even though he doesn't want to, rolling his hips forward with sloppy precision, blowing out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He couldn’t feel his lungs, just his dick. And he continues like this until Xhaka suddenly thrusts his hips forwards, meeting Oli in the middle perfectly so Olivier's moans mix in harmony with Xhaka's whines. Olivier takes that as invitation to move faster, thrusting harder than before whilst Xhaka was pushing his head backwards and body upwards, murmuring nothing but Olivier's name, but all Oli could do was just about breathe. Xhaka digs his nails into Oli's back like the claws of an animal trying to rip apart their prey, and their bodies glide perfectly over each other, due to sweat and the fact they were probably made for each other. At least that's what Olivier thought whilst Xhaka hooked his legs around his waist, while he was hitting the perfect spot over and over again, Xhaka unable to speak tangible words anymore, as he just stutters random syllables. But Olivier wasn't much better, choking out moans and Xhaka's name, unable to even breathe coherently, everything just felt so damn good. Everything was covered in a shower of gold, too beautiful to explain, but it was paradise, everything was inherently perfect. Xhaka's cries were the song of an angel, he was an angel fallen from heaven. But that probably makes him the devil.

Olivier has officially lost control. He thrusts into Xhaka with animalistic qualities he too does contain, but he knows Xhaka loves it. He knows by the way Xhaka whines for more and damn near screams when he gets exactly what he's asked. He knows because he's never felt this fucking good before in his entire pitiful life. Olivier knows he's not going to last long, not when everything feels like it does, so he slides a hand between their two bodies, that were so close to each other as they share each other's body heat. And Olivier takes hold of Xhaka's dick and tugs on it hard, so if Xhaka wasn't screaming Olivier's name before he was now, overcome by feelings of pleasure, and he looks like he could cry, whimpering,"Oli,Oli,Oli. Please, oh my god please," in a breathless chanting prayer, and the words only cause Olivier to thrust harder, Xhaka's heels digging into his back as he somehow pulls Oli closer.

The two of them were erratic now, both so close to their climaxes, both unable to speak another word except the distorted version of each other's names, the only thing that's on their minds. But inevitably Xhaka comes first, digging his teeth into Olivier's shoulder with no warning so hard he draws blood. But Olivier doesn't notice as he is quick to come too, groaning lowly as he slows his movements to a dull gyration of his hips as Xhaka laps at the blood on his shoulder delicately as apology. However Olivier tips Xhaka's chin back and kissing his lips so softly as he pulls out, and he can taste his own in Xhaka's mouth and he'd never admit it, but there's something surprisingly hot about cleaning his own blood off Xhaka's teeth with his tongue.

He ties the condom up and chucks it in the bin, before collapsing heavily into the soft bed and winding his legs underneath the silken sheets and between Xhaka's too. He sighs in deep content, exhausted as his mind swirls, but the world softens as Xhaka rests his head on Oli's chest and kisses his jawline softly, mumbling words Olivier can't quite catch, though he's not sure if he's supposed to anyway, so he lets it blow over his head and closes his eyes instead. Patterns of swirling purples and greens appear but everything feels so mellow that it all just disappears. Everything finally floats away without Olivier able to anchor it anymore.

 

-

Olivier wakes up feeling like complete and utter shit. His chest feels heavy, too much weight to breathe and every single inch of his body aches, hurts too much to move. So he lies still, shutting his eyes because his blinds are open and it's too bright, it's giving him a headache and even with his eyes closed the light penetrate the thin layer of skin, providing nothing different for him to see. So, Oli groans and rolls onto his front, pressing his face into the over-priced pillow, even though he knows he won't be able to sleep. He just grumbles quietly to himself that he hates his life and how he'd rather die than have to deal with a hangover. This isn't a normal hangover though, Olivier doesn't feel ill, just fucking sad, like he'll never feel happy again. Probably the after effects of drugs. Because Olivier fucking did drugs, fucking piece of whipped shit.

The bed is cold, there's no one left with him now. And this doesn't surprise Olivier, as much as he hoped for someone to still be there, it was a long shot really. He's disappointed nonetheless, inadequacy flaring up in him, though that's probably the post-ecstasy depression there. Olivier should probably look up about what he took the night before, but not right then. Instead he stretches his legs, groaning lowly as white noise travels through his ears and down his legs. Then he rolls over and sits up, eyes having adjusted to the light in that time, which was streaming elegantly around the room, lighting everything a faint yellow colour which was calming in some type of way. A way Olivier couldn't quite understand, for it's not like he could feel much calmer.

He twists his neck around in hopes to fix the nagging ache, and he notices in the corner of his eye a piece of paper, lying next to a glass of water Olivier definitely hadn't gotten himself. He's surprised Xhaka managed to find the cupboard with glasses in, and Olivier really hoped nothing had been stolen by him. He really hoped he could trust Xhaka not to do that, even when Olivier only pretends to know the man. And Olivier picks the water first, because his mouth is a desert in need of cleansing, and the water isn't quite cold anymore, but fuck it tastes good. At least as good as water can taste.

Olivier picks up the note after clapping the glass back on the bedside table, though his throat is still dry and it hurts to breath. It doesn't say much, but Olivier still smiles anyway thinking maybe the empty bed didn't have to mean Xhaka was gone forever, as the note read Xhaka's number and then '-Granit :)' and Olivier smiled like a schoolboy when they get their dream girls number. But Olivier got a name and a number, so maybe that means he was earning some trust from the other man. Only time could tell.


	2. ptII Mint Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Olivier accidentally yet with total awareness becomes Granit's sugardaddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only like, kinda edited lmao

Olivier did live a somewhat busy life. The briefings every week, where the same words were droned into his ear whilst he just nodded and congratulated everyone on doing a good job. He didn't know what half their jobs were. Sometimes a business magazine he'd never heard of wanted to interview him. They ask no questions related to his business and instead ask about his love life, and he laughs as if that question hadn't been on his mind for nearly a week himself. And then Olivier eats his gourmet style meals, gives another cheque to another charity and goes home.

 

He wasn't happy at home however. He felt like he was being swallowed whole by the space of it, everything was void and everything was floating and he could throw his TV out the window and it wouldn't even matter to him. It scares him a little, that he doesn't care enough anymore, the way in which life has become so trivial to him. Each day is the same and he's fucking bored, he's bored of waking up alone and having no real friends left, because as he got richer they got more jealous to the point that they left him. Now all he has is people trying to leech off him in a way they deem subtle. He'd rather a person straight up ask him for money than try and earn his favour and then drop hints. Olivier was awful at picking up hints.

 

Which explains why he hasn't texted or called or done anything with Xha- Granit's number that had been left for him. Maybe he was just being a little bitch, but he was so goddamn nervous. He's stuck his dick in the guy but can't work up the courage to actually talk to him. It was wearing him down mentally, a battle between every fibre of himself. Because part of him knew that it was all supposed to just be a one-time thing, a night to be someone else and then the rest of his life to forget about it. But he was addicted to the man and withdrawal hurt. Olivier missed his body and his voice, his lips had been so soft and Olivier is desperate to taste Granit once again. He wanted one last night with the devil, but he was scared that he'd slowly slip down into Hell. He wanted to have the actions, the really hot actions especially, without any consequences afterwards. But that was impossible and Olivier knew this, but God he wanted what he wanted.

 

So, he paces again, feeling this whole situation as disgustingly similar to an earlier predicament. And that one worked out exactly how he had dreamed it would. But that was before and this is now and Olivier wants to scream until his lungs rip apart and he can no longer suck in another breath, just to avoid making another decision again.

 

Olivier tries to work, but his hands are bored of typing, scratching at the woodwork of his computer desk, leaving marks on expensive wood, but he doesn't care, he doesn't need it. He's sick of being so materialistic. He wants to live again, actually truly live life, not cooped up in a larger than life apartment making out like gaining money is living. Money is only a part of life and Olivier didn't want that part anymore. Well, maybe he did, but at that time he was sick and tired of expectations and fake people and wine tasting events. He didn't belong with these people anymore, he wasn't one of them, not in the way he dreamed he would be when his company suddenly blew up. He wanted a new life, he had a way to get into a new life, and he wasn't going to miss an opportunity.

 

So, he takes the note from his pocket, because yes, he's kept it with him everywhere he goes, just in case he finally finds the right thing to say. He doesn't have anything good to say, but he didn't before either and things seemed to work out alright. He can wing it, make a minimal fool out of himself, and hopefully see a new side of life his parents always hoped Olivier wouldn't become a part of.

 

Olivier rings the number, letting the phone ring between trembling fingers, and Olivier doesn't know why he's so damn nervous. Probably something to do with Granit being a man too beautiful even for Olivier to conceptualise in his own dreams, or that his lips felt like gold, too precious for Olivier. Or that when he spoke it was like rain on a summers day, something no one admits to wanting, but once it's there you're relieved because the flowers that had been dying were finally able feel life again. Olivier felt like the flower in this world, and Granit was his rain.

 

But eventually the ringing phone goes to voicemail and Olivier sucks in a breath and bites his

lip and tries not to feel completely dejected, like he'd lost to the person he needs the most. People are busy, they can't answer the phone straight away. Olivier knows that feeling too well, missed calls and no replies to 'important' texts being the main reason he loses any meaningful relationship he may have been able to build with someone. Important has different meanings to different people however, and Olivier finds ignoring people so easy. Yet somehow, he himself hates being ignored. He was a walking contradiction in too many ways. Olivier leaves a message, 'Hi its um, Olivier, the guy from like a week ago,' what if Granit had been with other people already? God, he was getting so possessive and he barely knew the guy. He really needs to stop doing that, 'If you could call back, that’d be, um, great. Thanks bye.' He hates how awkward he is.

 

And Olivier skids his phone along the wooden desk, but it doesn't quiet end up on the floor, thankfully. He can't be going throw 2 phones in less than a month. Yeah, he can easily afford to he could get a new phone every day and be fine. It's just the hassle of it all that stops him from destroying everything. Olivier sighs and picks up his phone again, glaring at the screen like that's going to make Granit call. And then Olivier waits. And waits.

 

 

 

-

 

And waits. He's been sat like a prisoner on death row, waiting for the inevitable fate. Except Olivier was starting to think his was no longer inevitable. Maybe he'd been dreaming too much of this man being the perfect match for him, and in reality, he needed to screw his head back on his shoulders. He didn't know Granit, he didn't know anything about him at all, and he shouldn't be so reliable on the validation of one man anyway. But he'd called a few more times anyway, in the hopes of some sort of answer, even if it ended up being that Granit wasn't interested in him anyway. Instead he got nothing, and he'd given up on leaving messages. Olivier was going to leave it now, push this all back to become a memory. The future depended on you forgetting the past, or at least that's what worked for Oli.

 

So, he went around with his ordinary life with his ordinary people. Greeted the grunt workers who didn't get paid enough to make sure Oli had a big enough cheque at the end of the month, just to make sure they feel as if they matter. And they do a lot more work than the guys stood with Olivier now, each and every one of them chatting shit about the amount of work they put in. Organising a team isn't nearly as hard as being a part of that team, especially when the team leader is useless. Olivier wished he cared enough about his staff to fire every single pointless, self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard who dared to pretend to be better than anyone else. But sadly, Oli didn't care, and he especially didn't want to have to sit and interview people for the open position. And he certainly didn't want to get questioned as to why he fired his whole senior department one day in an angry rage. So, he kept to himself and let everyone around him do the work so he didn't have to.

 

He still had to attend every event however, taking place in the luxurious top floor of the building, where only senior staff and the few lucky ones that are close to promotion were able to go. If someone else is found here, they're fired. Olivier didn't even implement this rule, but it still fucking happens no matter how much he protests. He doesn't have any true power over the company, and all his underlings knew it too. But he drinks cocktails with them and laughs about Jane, whoever the fuck that is, in IT. Some brag about the new car in their garages or the holiday home they've bought in Florida. Olivier doesn't partake in any of it, or at least tries not to. After a few drinks, everyone fucks off to be with people who are also on their level of incompetence and Olivier somehow isn't one of them. But he's alone and that's what matters, and he could leave and no one would care, which is a sigh of relief.

 

Olivier just sits back and breathes however, not drinking anything because it's all too fancy for him and he's just not in the mood anyway. He glares up at the ceiling, with gold lining over white panels that are so intricately laced Olivier wonders how a human hand could be so precise. It smells like cologne, too strong for Olivier as every single man in the room tries to assert dominance and the women have to try even harder for anyone to take them seriously. But that's not something Olivier needs to think about. He twists his head to the side, away from the clamour of people and towards the sunset, glaring through the window in bright streaks of red and yellow. It lights every single person up, smiles over exaggerated and blinding, laughs duller than the sharp expanse of grey roads that disappear from the sun. Oli himself smiles, even as he feels the complete opposite to that.

 

For Olivier definitely isn't happy in his current place in life. People say never meet your idols, and Olivier listened to them. No one mentioned never let your dreams come true however. But Olivier had always dreamed of being rich, of being able to spend money and not think about how that would affect his life. But dreams are a figment made purely upon fiction, and there's no way they can ever really come true, because there's always a piece missing, a part of fiction that can never feasibly become part of the true story. And that missing piece is like a hole in Olivier's soul, as sad as that sounds. He feels like he's missing out on a vital part of his life, as if there's a part that should exist but just doesn't. He should be funnier or stronger or, just something. The missing part is obscured and Olivier doesn't know what's wrong with him and what he can do to fix himself either.

 

That's until the phone rings and Olivier's stomach lurches and he thinks that maybe he does know what he wants, and what's missing without even glancing at who's calling yet. But as cliché as it sounds, the restlessness in his heart is diminished as he sees the caller ID of Granit sharp and bright on his phone screen. Olivier doesn't give a shit that it's been two weeks and that none of his calls had been answered. This was what matters, that he's been remembered, that maybe he isn't just a part of a long chain of people that Granit ends up with. Or maybe he was going to explain about the broken vase Olivier had found the next day, although it could've been Oli who'd broken it if he was remembering the events of that night correctly. In all fairness, everything he went through is just a blur of bright colours and good feelings, so yeah, he's forgotten that little detail.

 

Olivier grabs the phone that caused the whole table to vibrate underneath it and steps outside, making out like this was something important. To him it was, to those people it was worthless. All sociopaths, every single one of them, they make Olivier uncomfortable as he can feel the glare of each pair of eyes in the room as he steps out onto the balcony, shutting the door and not turning around to see everyone looking back at him. He answered the phone and leant against cold stone wall that sapped away all body heat and he smiled when he finally heard that voice once again. The one he had been missing so very much that it was starting to hurt in his lungs. His lungs that were suffering in the cold outdoors air, he could barely breath from the sting, but he doesn't know if it really is the cold or that he's the one being called. Granit really wants him.

 

"You busy?" Granit said, his voice tinny and fake but still exactly what Olivier needed. There were no formal greetings and Oli liked it that way, he didn't need 'hellos' or fake smiles, just someone who knew exactly what they wanted as well. Olivier shrugs against the wall, despite knowing that he can't be seen, and he can hear laughter and loud voices from back inside the building, so he knows he's not being watch or listened to or cared about back in that room. And what would be the good for being able to leave. Although it's not like he can fire himself.

 

So, Olivier shakes his head and smiles as he speaks, feeling soft and warm like sinking into clean bedsheets when talking to Granit, "Nah, I'm not busy," he replies absently, looking over his shoulder to see his colleagues enjoying themselves so much more without him, "Not busy at all," he adds for good measure, chuckling quietly to himself. He’s suddenly acting like some kind of lovesick school girl, and Oli isn’t sure he’s proud of himself for it, but he can’t help the butterflies in his stomach either. He was nervous wreck all of a sudden, and he’d never felt this way before. Part of him wanted this feeling to desert him completely and forever. Another enjoyed the giddiness, he wanted to feel this way completely and forever. Oh God, he was a mess and honestly, he needed to stop whilst he was ahead. He wasn’t going to, however. Of course not.

 

Olivier can hear noises in the background. Shouts of words that he cannot make out, the creek of a closing window that is old and rusting around the edges, the shouts muffled with these actions. Olivier wonders where Granit is, he can’t help but feel nervous for him sometimes, Oli can’t expect him to be living a life like he does, but he doesn’t like that much either. Olivier needed to feel less, think less, and just let life happen the way it does. Worry about himself, not others. But God he can’t help I sometimes. “Can you come over. I’m kinda in a,” he pauses, clicks his tongue as if that will help unstick the words from it,” Sticky situation.” Olivier hears the crackled sigh over the phone and he smiles. He must be trusted, wanted, maybe even needed. He needs to stop this, stop overthinking. He’s never had anyone make him feel this way and he just can’t help it, he doesn’t know how to process these feelings. He’s a failing computer and one day he’ll be torn apart and used for parts only. “I’ll text you my address,” he adds, sounding reluctant, but Olivier smiles anyway even as Granit hangs up so suddenly.

 

Oli sighs himself, air puffing out white in the night sky, but he doesn’t feel cold anymore. He’s warm from his ears all the way to his toes and he slaps his cheeks lightly just to make sure he’s not dreaming. And he’s not, even as he floats back indoors, lightheaded and smiling the most he ever has in this claustrophobic atmosphere of egos and lies. He tells people he’s leaving early, and no one demands an explanation because nobody cares, so Olivier reminds them all to lock up on the way out and steps into the elevator, not looking behind to say goodbye. One of these days someone is going to usurp him from his current position and in a weird way Olivier was looking forward to that day. The money was nice, but he was used to having it all by now, nothing luxury excites him anymore. And if he gets removed from his job he’d still have enough money to live the way he does for the rest of the life. Maybe an early retirement was the way forwards for him. He was sick of the place, it was choking him alive.

 

Olivier reaches his car and puts the address given into the satnav. Olivier knows the neighbourhood he’s headed to, he knows it’s not the type of place he would ever willingly drive to. Well at least not until now of course. All his previous morals and principles have left him completely it would seem. Olivier rolls his eyes at himself and drives, hoping his car won’t get stolen whilst it’s parked up. The roads are busy, but they always are in the city, no matter what the time. Headlights glare in his eyes and red lights frustrate him to no end, the colour taunting him and he could just pay the fine for going past it, but he doesn’t want to die either. He’s not quite of the level in which he would risk his life for Granit. Part of him hopes that doesn’t change, another is sure it will.

 

Oli reaches where he’s supposed to be, staring up at a stark block of flats, concrete in colour and paint peeling from all sides. Olivier wouldn’t be surprised if vines grew up one of the sides, the building looked like it was deteriorating further just in the few seconds Olivier spent inspecting it. He decided to push back the anxieties of the whole building collapsing as soon as he walked in and took a deep breath of stinging cold air before stepping in. And inside it’s musty, damp, there’s mould on the ceiling and Olivier thinks about holding his breath, but realises that will probably kill him, so he wanders across the lobby and steps inside the elevator, noticing the glances of the minimal people loitering in the area, and he really hopes he doesn’t get mugged or anything whilst he’s here. He won’t hold his breath on that. Maybe he’s a snob or maybe he has trust issues. It’s almost defiantly the former.

 

He taps on Xhaka’s door as he reaches it, the carpet a distinct shade of brown that it probably wasn’t originally, but he chooses to ignore the smell and the... interesting stains as soon as he hears Granit’s voice. This will surely be worth it, he can’t think of anyone else he would do this for either. “Door’s open,” Granit calls, so Olivier opens it up, stepping into a room which seemed to contain every type of room in one. There was a bed against one wall, the most basic of kitchen areas against the other and a battered felt sofa stood in the middle of the room. It could all fit in Olivier’s living room, with room to spare. And it’s so dark, so closed in, he’s choking on the smell of smoke that’s stained the ceiling black. The only light that comes in is from the buildings outside, only meters apart from Granit’s that you could see straight into the windows and the people living there could look straight back. Olivier forgot people lived like this. And that more people live worst that this.

 

But Olivier smiles anyway, because somehow all of this is exactly what he expected from Granit, and it seems so disgustingly perfect, that in some twisted manner he loved it. Granit himself, he was sat in the only light that existed in this room, a faint glow on his skin that seemed to emphasise each angle on Granit’s face. The ones he knew so well but had also forgotten in such a short time. It’s awful how much Olivier had missed the man, the man he knew so little, so very little. He has to keep reminding himself of that fact, because he keeps pretending to understand him, to have learnt everything available about him. But he doesn’t, he only learned his damn name a couple of weeks ago, he needs to know that, but damn he’s forgetful.

 

Granit is laid out on a window ledge, whole body stretched in casual bliss, a smile on his face and a cigarette in his fingers. Olivier wandered if he’d ever get to meet sober Xhaka, but then he doesn’t really mind if he doesn’t. If drugs are a part of his personality, surely the person without them is the fake one. Olivier didn’t really understand it, and didn’t really care to find out. His own personality wasn’t an addictive type, he would never understand an addict’s thought process. He thinks, however, that he may be addicted to Granit Xhaka, and the fact that that idea doesn’t in the least surprise him says a lot about his mental state at this current time. He was losing his whole sense of being to Granit, and in all reality, he didn’t really mind either. But maybe that’s because he’d left his mind far behind, in a place Oli may never find. One thing his thoughts could comprehend was how fucking gorgeous Granit looked, stretched out nonchalantly as if he hadn’t even noticed Olivier was stood there.

 

Golden light spilled over his face and body, dramatizing every dip in his body, helped along by tight, black clothes. His jaw looked sharp enough to kill when highlighted by ever-brightening city lights in the darkening night, and his hair fell across his forehead in such a soft way that he almost looked approachable. But Olivier knew better than that. Granit was a display in the type of art museum created for only the most elite of pieces. He was the most expensive piece and Olivier was always outbid by someone else for him. Olivier wasn’t the only one who dreamed of making Granit his, it had to be true because Olivier had never seen someone so beautiful. And beautiful things always get stolen by jealous creatures. Olivier could wonder if he is the one doing the stealing, but he continues to dream of being Granit’s one and only, discarding the thought that denies that deep into the recesses of his mind. Hopefully, never to be uncovered.

 

Granit beckons him over with a twitch of a finger, not speaking, not even looking Olivier’s way, and boy he’s whipped. Mindlessly he is drawn to Xhaka’s presence, his entire being which was so ethereal Olivier thought that this moment had to be a dream. Men of gold don’t exist, but the way Granit was lit up, well it had to be true. Granit reaches upwards, looking over at Olivier with emotions sparking that Olivier couldn’t decipher, and Olivier leans downwards at his beckon, Granit wasting no time in pushing on the back of Oli’s head. And Oli wasted no time back, pressing his lips to Granit’s as if they belonged to him, as if the two of them were truly something. They were nothing, but Olivier’s given up even trying to remember that small detail. He was living in the present, and presently he was running his thumbs along Granit’s jaw delicately, as if he could snap him under his fingers. Maybe he could if he ever wanted to. But Olivier couldn’t see that situation arising, not when he’s licking the back of Granit’s teeth and tasting his tongue as if this will be his last meal.

 

But Granit isn’t desperate for anything more. Not right now, not in the same way Olivier is. He breaks apart, pressing soft, delicate kisses to Oli’s lips, like he’s trying to share something through the kiss alone. He seemed sad, scared, lonely. That’s what he saw when he opened his eyes to be met with red-watery ones of Granit, that quickly looked down as if he was embarrassed. The exaggerated emotions in his eyes alone even for a split second were enough for Oli to know something was wrong. It made bile rise in his throat, and anger spark in his fingertips, an anger he’d never been able to control. He bit his lip and tried with all his efforts to push this to the side, to be rational. He pressed his lips to Granit’s forehead and sat down opposite him on the windowsill, their legs slotting between each other as they were supposed to do, and Oli smiled delicately, loving the way they so casually knew each other. It was like it was meant to be, or something like that.

 

“What’s up with the suit?” Granit asked, avoiding the obvious and picking up on the smaller details, and Olivier was almost glad. He’d never been good at his own emotions, let alone other people’s. Granit’s running his toe casually along Olivier’s thigh, and despite the material it still tickles and forces a spark to form in his stomach. He just rests his head against the wall behind him, looking out the window, just as Granit was.

 

Olivier shrugged,” Work party thing,” he mumbled softly, a smile forming as he was so glad he’d been able to escape that hell. Oli pulls at the tie on his neck, that was starting to feel too tight, choking his breath and leaving his throat dry. He looked too high strung for a place like this, so he forced his shoes off too, cringing as they fell to the ground with a large thud that echoed around the half empty room. Granit seemed unaffected.

 

“I’m guessing you have a fair few of those, Mr. CEO,” and Olivier raised an eyebrow at him, as if it’s unusual for people to know who he is. Being both successful and handsome leads to a lot of attention. Still, he’ll divulge Granit, “Looked you up on google, no one rich is not on there. You’re way more pretentious online,” he replied, Olivier smiling at the fact Granit had even bothered to search him up, and more that he, seemed at least, to see through Olivier’s grossly faked forefront during interviews and meetings. That in all reality he is nothing like that, he’s not one of those people and desperately he hoped Granit realised this. And he thinks Granit must’ve done, that he wouldn’t have bothered to get back in touch unless he knew that the real Oli wasn’t nearly as much of fucking prick as the one that was sat in front of Granit right there. “The suits hot though, I like it.” He adds, licking his lips as a sure-fire way of showing every single dirty thought that was going through his mind.

 

“You ever smoked before?” Granit asked, changing the topic of conversation and retracting his foot that was slowly creeping up Olivier’s thigh, something which Oli was fairly disappointed about, the cold that seeped into his bones making him shiver ever-so subtly.

 

Olivier nodded slightly, remembering a better time, “Once, I was 14,” he replied quietly, Granit smiling himself, to him Oli must be the most vanilla man he’s come into contact with for a long time. Olivier somehow finds comfort in that, “I didn’t like it too much though,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the memory of coughing until he felt his lungs had died, his friend not trying it at all once he had seen the sight of Olivier. And maybe Olivier had acted a little over dramatic just to get sympathy. That wasn’t the point.

 

“You’re so pathetic, no one likes it the first-time man,” Granit chuckles, and he too looks like he’s reminiscing, except his first time led him down a completely different path to Oli’s. It was strange how different minds changed an entire perception of a situation, that whilst Oli had sworn off smoking forever at the age of 14, Granit had only been intrigued to go even further. Neither had been thinking about the consequences, only what each had wanted. And that applied to this exact situation, each perceiving it so much different to the other, yet both together because they want things. Both there because consequences don’t apply to either of them anymore, “Come here,” Granit commanded, and Olivier follows everything asked of him, shuffling forwards so he’s sat between Granit’s legs and looking down at him so very innocently.

 

Granit takes a drag of the cigarette, and Oli has watched enough indie movies to know what will happen next, Granit pressing his fingers to Oli’s jaw, and forcing his lips apart with his thumb, pressing his own lips so delicately to Olivier’s, blowing the smoke into Olivier’s mouth and throat and lungs as if they belonged there. And he wasn’t letting Oli go either, even as the tickle in his chest begged him to splutter into the coughing fit he really hoped wouldn’t actually happen. He could feel the heat from his stomach rise into his chest, heating his heart and his whole blood stream, until every part of his body was being warmed up from Granit. The hand he’s placed on Oli’s skin under a rucked-up shirt isn’t helping, searing a hole into his body.

 

Eventually Granit let Oli go, a trail of saliva still attaching them as Oli tried to hide his coughs under small convulsions in his body, something he wasn’t getting away with as Granit laughed overtly, Oli joining in too once he’d wiped away the tears that had formed from trying his utmost hardest not to make a fool of himself. He’d failed that, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel too worried about that. “You really know how to ruin a moment hey?” Granit more or less howled, and Olivier shrugged, chuckling to himself. This was good, too good almost. Oli didn’t want anything to change.

 

“Hmm, yeah?” Olivier replied slyly, leaning forwards and recapturing Granit’s lips, this time smoke free. Well at least in theory they were, as all Olivier could taste on his tongue was the dissolved smoke that had soaked onto the muscle, but suddenly Olivier loved the way it tasted. Granit whined lowly, taking Olivier’s bottom lip between his lip and pulling it outwards less than gently, and Oli moaned softly as Granit pressing the gentlest of kisses to his lips as an apology. An apology for trying to rip him apart. But Olivier accepts and wraps his arms around Granit’s waist, pulling him up and into Oli’s lap, where he was already semi-hard and in desperate need of some form of friction and pressure. Granit complied without a word, grinding himself down into Olivier’s lap heavily, so that he couldn’t help by cry out in a yelp he would never actually admit he made. And Granit doesn’t mention it miraculously, just smirking and gnawing down Oli’s neck, swiping his tongue across the overexposed vein situated there, just to let Olivier remember how dangerous he is. That he could kill Olivier with his teeth alone. Oli moans softly at the thought, tilting his head back until it hits the wall behind him, just inviting Granit to go further.

 

Oli can feel Granit’s mumbling voice rumble across his throat, able to sense the vibrations but not hear the words attached, and he whimpers pathetically as Granit pushes himself down in Olivier’s lap again. Oli wanted to cry or scream, and instead he let out pitiful little whimpers and moans. Oli wanted to feel his skin under his tongue and devour every part of him. Instead Granit was doing that to him, and he was ruthless and brutal. He pulled at Olivier’s tie as if he was trying to strangle him and choke him to death, Olivier wheezing his breaths, but he didn’t mind either. He partially missed the sensation when Granit had finally completed his mission of removing Olivier’s tie, not that he would admit that to anyone. He would never admit anything of any of this to anyone.

 

With his tie lost, along with the shirt, Granit moved to explore Olivier’s body. He wasn’t slow or sensual though. He sunk his teeth into Olivier like time was running out, his teeth pressing into collarbones and ribs, Oli mixing yelps and moans that whole time, Granit only occasionally just softly swiping his tongue across some areas. Occasionally not being enough for Olivier, as Granit nipped each of Olivier’s nipples in quick succession, the painful sensation bringing sparks of tears to his eyes that he quickly blinks away. Olivier didn’t hate it though, he reveled in the pain and the way it brought him to life, the way it made him so oversensitive to every touch, soft or hard. The fact that the most beautiful man in the world was trying to eat him alive just made him moan even harder, unable to control himself and not trying particularly hard either.

 

Granit, ever the impatient one, moved downwards with fair pace, deciding Olivier was bleeding with enough marks, that they were deep enough for Olivier not to forget Granit for a few weeks. He didn’t expect to ever forget him, however. He’s only known him for days and yet Oli can’t imagine his life without him, without this happening. Granit fumbled with Oli’s belt for a few seconds, cursing under his breath because that short time was too long for him. And Oli leant back, spreading his legs apart so that Granit fit perfectly between them, as he drew down Olivier’s trousers that probably cost as much as the rent for a month in this place does. He smirked at the thought because he had become what he’d always dreamed of as a kid. A rich bastard.

 

Granit whispers under his breath, something along the lines of, “God-fucking-damn, I love your cock,” as he pulls away Olivier’s boxers, and Oli can feel the skin across his body glow red in embarrassment and a throb in the aforementioned cock. He winces at the cool air that glances across his body, and a tiny voice in the back of his mind tell him it’s not appropriate to be doing this is a windowsill. However, Olivier’s been ignoring that little voice every second he’s been with Granit, and he wasn’t about to start listening now. He’d been wanting Granit’s pretty plush lips on his dick since they had first met, he wasn’t going to ruin his chances with the little thing of decency plaguing his mind. And the thought immediately left his mind as Granit circled his tongue around the head of Oli’s cock, slowly wetting the head with kitten-like licks, his tongue lapping at the skin like licking an ice-cream cone.

 

Oli whispers out his breathy moans, eyes shut so tight his head hurts, as in his brain, you dirty minded scum. And he can’t help the gasp that emits from his lips as Granit opens up his mouth, taking his cock between his lips, so soft and careful of himself, so very, very sure of his actions too. As if knows exactly what will undo Olivier, as if he’s made notes on the subject. Olivier would smile at the thought if his mind wasn’t currently a cloud of ecstasy and pleasure, a hollow mist surrounding him, making it impossible to think straight. He whimpered and itched to pull Granit further down even as his cock hit the back of his throat, a solid pressure that Oli moans softly over, sweat soaking his body and his chest tight, so he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs, so that he feels like death and death feels good.

 

Granit brings himself back up, dragging his teeth lightly along Olivier’s length, and the pain of the oversensitive skin is outranked by the pleasure Oli is feeling at the pressure he was receiving, and he whines further as Granit licks up and along the same spot as a form of apology for the previous actions seconds before. Olivier just bites his lip, trying his best to keep himself somewhat composed, as he’s supposed to be, as Granit takes as much of his cock as he can, pushing even further down just as tears spark in his eyes, burning on his skin. But Olivier doesn’t take much notice of that, pleasure overtaking his mind as he finally laces his fingers within Granit’s hair, knots getting caught in his fingers that he pulls out in sharp tugs, Granit moaning at the sensation right on Olivier’s dick and fuck it felt good. Granit begin to bob his head ever so slightly, Olivier helping him along with his hands in his hair, but when he bucks his hips up Granit pushes his hands firmly down on Olivier’s hips, looking up at him with an indignant spark in his eyes, but Oli making eye contact with Granit whilst his cock is in his mouth sends him into a mess of tumbling moans, closing his eyes but wanting to watch as well.

 

Granit continued the movements of his head, tongue dragging against Oli’s shaft, and Olivier continued to be a moaning mess above him. He knew he was close, so, so close, and Granit could sense it too as Olivier mumbled incoherently in French, his mind no longer able to comprehend the way this feels in English. Granit moaned gently at Oliver’s fucked out voice, sounding so hot as he spoke the words he didn’t know, the vibrations travelling along Oliver’s dick and Oli was so in love. Granit was pumping his own cock with his hand as Olivier finally remembered the words he was supposed to say, “Come, gonna come, fucking hell,” he gasped out, Granit moving upwards so just the head of Oli’s cock lay in his mouth, licking at it slowly until second later Oli comes, hard and fast, the knot in his stomach coming lose. And Granit swallows it all, making Oli close his eyes tight and moan in pathetic fashion, even as Granit removes Olivier’s cock from his mouth, and continues to pump at his own dick. Olivier watches from under his eyelashes, his mind a thick fog in that moment, but Granit looks a piece of art with his head thrown back and his boxers pooled around his knees, and he comes on his own stomach and Olivier’s thighs.

 

Not that Olivier minds that much when Granit slowly leans down, licking his own cum off Olivier’s legs, his cock giving out a painful throb that Oli wants to ignore. And Olivier doesn’t remember Granit removing his own shirt, but Oli licks the cum off his stomach as a type of unspoken, slightly weird thank you, and then he picks Granit’s chin in his hand and lifts their lips together, kissing him deep and passionate and slow, Oli able to taste himself and Granit in the others mouth and he mumbles how much he loves Granit’s lips and Granit calls Olivier a fucking manwhore, but it’s all light hearted and Olivier laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet. It’s not an awkward or scary type of quiet, he feels serene, at peace within himself. He wonders how Granit feels, and if he’ll ever know.

 

But the quiet is broken in time, Olivier sticking boxers back on cause damn it’s cold and people across the streets have turned all their lights off, gone to bed, sleeping in normal hours of the day. Normal people, Olivier never believed to be one of them. But then has anyone ever truly felt normal? And what is normal? He’s about to ask Granit, but he speaks first and Olivier listens because that’s what he’s supposed to do, “Hey, can I ask you, like a favour, I dunno,” he murmured. And he must know that he has Olivier wrapped around his little finger to be begging favours. And for once, Olivier doesn’t even mind it, for the first time ever he knows exactly what’s coming and he’s okay with it, more than okay with it. He was being used and fuck, he doesn’t care, “Like, I’m in a bit of a sticky situation, I said on the phone, kinda, I think?,” he admitted, his voice soft like a whimper, “And I don’t want it to see like I’m using you,” lies, “But like I’ve seen how much Forbes says your worth, so $2000 won’t be too much skin off your back, right?” And Olivier could laugh because, well fuck, it wasn’t! He could spend more than that eating at a restaurant if he wanted to. Money is worthless to him, and yet it’s what completely controls Granit’s world.

 

“Cash or cheque?” Olivier questions, reaching down to find his wallet within his trousers. And Granit is wide eyed, shocked at how casual Olivier is at this, that he really doesn’t care. He probably never thought Olivier would give him the money and if Granit was anyone else, Oli wouldn’t. But if this money would keep Granit around, he’ll let him have it. And honestly, Olivier didn’t care why he needed it and what it was going to be used for. That was Granit’s life and that wasn’t something Olivier was going to control just because he chose to fund it. As long as Granit was alive, well whatever he does can’t be too bad. And maybe Olivier will find out one day.

 

But still, Granit shakes his head as if Oli doesn’t understand what’s happening, “I won’t be able to pay you back or nothin’ “he warns as if Olivier had even been thinking about that. Granit was just another charity case, a worthy cause for donation. Except according to the law he definitely wasn’t worthy.

 

Olivier just ignores him, sorting through the ridiculous amounts of money he keeps with him, because he can, because it doesn’t even matter if he loses it, “Cash’ll do, yeah?” he repeats, pulling out what Granit needed, plus a little extra which will hopefully go towards food and not drugs. But Oli won’t be getting his hopes too high on that one. He tended to stay pessimistic in the ideology that never in his life will he be disappointed. And so far, that’s worked, but in all fairness, he has gone above and beyond all his expectations, which helps quite a lot.

 

Granit just nods absently, awestruck, maybe simply just trying to hide sheer joy. Because Granit is too cool to feel joy like that, he was an emotionless hard-ass, obviously. Still he gleams in the dark, his happiness infectious and Olivier is laughing. He’s laughing even as his stomach turns and lurches as money swaps hands, and Granit’s laughing too, except it’s lower, a small chuckle. This was serious to him, and Olivier isn’t sure he wants to find out exactly why it is such a dark subject for Granit. And Granit doesn’t exactly share either, keeping hold of the money as if Olivier will steal it back, his grip one of steel and his eyes were wild, and Olivier isn’t sure if it’s his own heart that’s beating so fucking fast that he can hear or Granit’s. All he knows is that he’s just put himself into a situation, a place he never intended to be. He’s acted naïve up until this point, and maybe things were starting to catch up to him. But Olivier pretends not to care and continues to laugh, even if it’s nervous, even if he’s immediately regretting everything he’s done to reach this point. Will he continue doing it? Anything for Granit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the part where i say thanks !!! for the kudos n comment n hits etc !!! i love u guys every kudo makes me v happy n yeh !!! thanks !!!! also tho normal exams are over i still have a russian speaking + scholarship presentations + the last chapter is gonna be v long so !! it may take a while sorry about that :( anyway pls talk to me on my tumblr @ fuck-football and ill c u l8r :)


	3. ptIII Terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things come to an end. Was what they had good? Well that’s a matter of subjectivity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a damn month to come i had a lil bit of writers block for a bit out also editing got lazy towards the end just so i could get it out before school starts again so sorry. But last part so enjoy!

Things carry on in similar fashion from that moment onwards, and it stays that way for months at a time, but the time is moving so quickly for Olivier that it feels like it’s been a few weeks not a few months, and he doesn’t understand how time works that it could fly past him like it never even happened. Granit reminds him a lot that time doesn’t exist and Oli will roll his eyes and let Granit suck him off because if time doesn’t exist then he isn’t wasting any that should be put into work. Granit has a way of always winning so Olivier does what he wants, and maybe that just makes him weak, but being weak for Granit is like the sun rising and setting each day. Inevitable.

That doesn’t make Oli any less intrigued into Granit’s life of mystery, even as he desperately tries to keep himself concealed, shrouded in a blanket of mystery that is far from soft. Granit himself was soft though, he slept against Olivier’s chest and between his legs most days, so innocent when he’s asleep, but his heartbeat is always raised and Olivier quickly discovered that if he dare move an inch Granit will jump awake as if he’d never been asleep to begin with. It doesn’t take a psychologist to know this is through events of deep scarring and constant reoccurrence. Olivier just wants it to stop occurring…

He doesn’t say anything though, out of nerves and out of blind-sighted, deeply-selfish curiosity. He doesn’t mention the small cuts that sometimes appear on Granit’s body, anywhere from his arms to his face. Nor the dark bruising, brilliant shade of dark blues and royal purples, although Granit was far from regal. When Granit insists he’s paying for dinner to the point of self-induced rage when Olivier tries to convince him not to, he doesn’t ask where this sudden influx of money is coming from. Hell, when Olivier had to pick Granit off the side of the street and rush to hospital (where he had to use the authority his money gives him to not have them test Granit for drugs, though Granit told him with dead seriousness never to take him there again) well he never found out what happened. And each time Granit has recovered with enough life in him to seethe with his tongue between his teeth any time Oli dare project his curiosities as to where Granit was going and what was happening to him. And Oli would just shut his mouth like he’s supposed to and then open it again around Granit’s cock. Maybe the problem was he only felt comfortable talking during sex, since he assumed that was the least likely time he’d get hurt. Perhaps that was the dysfunctional quality in their relationship. And maybe, just maybe, Olivier should sit Granit down and force him to open up like the jaws of a snake does around their prey. In this instance and every instance since Olivier has met Granit, he is the prey.

But Granit sleeps all day in any bed he sees fit in Oli’s six-bedroom apartment. And then he leaves for the entire night. And when he’s not sleeping they’re fucking in some way. Olivier never formally invited Granit to live with him, but he’s slowly moved his entire presence in, and Olivier loves it even if sometimes the undertones of tension provide too much pressure for him. He fakes laughs his way through it and eventually he finds Granit in his own room, breathing deeply and where sunlight hit his skin it looked like the sunrise-sky itself, fucking beautiful and magical and incomprehensible to the human mind no matter how many times one may see it. But he could just stop and look for hours without getting bored or tired of the sight. And that’s why he kept Granit around, he was just too damn beautiful.

And attentively he steps over to the bed, toes sinking into plush carpet that seems to want to sink him deeper and deeper into ground. At least that’s how he felt as he climbed onto the bed and had clambered over, ever so carefully of course, and an art he had slowly mastered, to make sure Granit didn’t wake up, until he was knelt with knees placed either side of Granit’s body. Oli leans down and blows cool air across Granit’s jawline, the sensation making the younger jolt, but the expensive sheets are a quick giveaway of where he was, and annoyingly Granit was used to this. Olivier took the moment of silent sleepiness to press a soft kiss to the cheek Granit currently didn’t have crushed against silk pillows that were ‘too soft to be damn real’ and he knew that Granit was going to ruin the moment in a matter of seconds, so he let himself savour the times of silence that he had. Granit hated feelings and emotions and closeness, Oli was sure Granit was still trying to convince himself this was sex and money and nothing else, but Oli knew it was starting to feel different. At least that’s how he felt. Granit makes it out in a different way.

“You horney?” he asked, rolling over onto his back and smiling dopily towards Olivier. Oli rolls his eyes and shake his head, so Granit sticks out his bottom lip, pretending to sulk whilst Oli just laughs, collapsing down so he was lying beside the other. This was the closest they’ve been to having a normal moment, no sex involved. Olivier would resolve it if only his stomach wasn’t tossing up a storm, anxiety that spilled into his veins so his fingernails scratched absent mindedly at the skin on his hand, a continuous movement that meant the skin peeled from his hands. He couldn’t feel anything however.

Granit turns to look at him, his features so soft still, totally unguarded and a sight Olivier very rarely sees unless the other is asleep. It’s a nice sight, so uncharacteristically innocent, his eyes wide and tired, his arms reaching over to simply touch Olivier. Not in a heated way, something which is increasingly happening less, but in a mindless one. As if he can’t help himself, or it’s all unconscious movements, it’s all natural to the point of not thinking about all this anymore. It was like they were finally becoming something. “Did you wake me up for a reason then, or did you just miss someone boosting your fucking inflated ego some more. Narcissistic asshole, that’s what you are.”

Oli just laughs as Granit rubs his fingers into Oli’s hair, and he loves these moments, where Granit doesn’t know what to say but he just keeps speaking. Olivier is the last person who would expect Granit to be so awkward, almost shy at points, but then he shouldn’t expect a person to constantly act like a hard bastard. He preferred Granit like this though, soft and easy. Oli would never say that out loud because he’d probably get killed, but Granit can be the epitome of adorable sometimes. He acts like a lost puppy sometimes, huge eyes and little whimpers whilst he’s asleep as well as the times he’s awake. Oli just wants to take him off the streets and adopt him into his own home for good, he knows Granit would lead a much nicer existence from his own home, but first he needed to convince to see one thing, before Olivier hopefully takes that one thing away from him.

“Where do you go at night?” Olivier asked, and of course, he has asked before, but that was before, back when Granit was so far gone on whatever drugs he does that he doesn’t want to speak. He wants to fuck or he wants to eat, and Olivier lets him because he doesn’t know drugs and maybe it was important to get these things whilst on them. Olivier had seen the faded and brand new scars where a needle would penetrate the skin however, he could easily guess what was up. That plus the consistent mood swings which would match when Granit was starting to feel effects of withdrawal to when he’s gotten his next hit. Well Olivier had figured it all out and he wasn’t happy about it. There was no way he was going to bring that up however, he couldn’t imagine the reaction he’d get, and definitely not the idea that Granit could leave afterwards. Granit was the rope that was keeping Olivier from drowning into the disgustingly boring life of bills and phone calls, he was going to disappear into a world he wants to escape if that rope is pulled out from between his fingers. Olivier tends not to think of the strain Granit could be feeling from having to keep a hold of that rope for so long.

Granit shrugs, looking anywhere but Olivier’s eyes. He’s not so good at lying as Olivier once believed, “Home. This place suffocates ya sometimes, when you’re not used to it ‘n’ all,” he grumbles, chewing his bottom lip and tracing his fingers across Oli’s hip bones, trying to distract him, but Oli slaps his hands away and clamps Granit’s chin within his fingers, forcing him to look at him. He looks awkward, nervous and Oli brushes his other hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. He didn’t want to push Granit too far, but God he needed to know. He needed to know and then he needed to help the misguided soul in front of him.

“Please,” Olivier whispers, begging in his voice but he still has control, maybe this is manipulation, but he believes he is going to help, so surely it can’t be, “You can show me.” Granit kisses him in an attempt to get him to shut up, and Oli is so trapped under his spell that it nearly works, but he’s so close, so close, he just needs push that door open a little wider, to see what’s inside.

So, Oli lightly pushes Granit away, pushing their foreheads together, but no closer than that, Granit breathing so quickly it made Olivier feel light headed, “Just show me something. I want to _know_ you, the real you, so bad.” Olivier whispers, the words melting into the breath Granit continuously puffs out, his eyes shining even as he blinks rapidly. He looks so vulnerable and it makes Olivier wonder which Granit is the real one, the one lying in his bed or the one that threw a plate across the room once because he couldn’t find his phone. Or whether those two diametrically opposed moments could really build the same person.

Granit ducks his head into Oli’s chest in an attempt to cover up his weaknesses, and Oli let’s him, running his fingers through Granit’s hair and smiling softly as he kisses his forehead. And it takes a few minutes but then Granit lifts his head back up, looking Olivier dead in the eye with the type of eyes Granit is typically known for. Hard and dangerous, covering up all vulnerabilities. Or at least tries too, Olivier can’t help but see the stains that tears leave on his cheeks. And he only nods, but Olivier smiles and finally kisses Granit. Granit reluctantly kisses back.

-

And that’s how Olivier ended up where he was. It wasn’t a club, not in the stereotypical sense at least. There was music playing and people dancing, but that was the end of the similarities. It was simply… dirtier- in atmosphere just as much as physically, and clubs weren’t exactly passing cleanliness standard with flying colours. The lights glowed red, dark like blood spilt on the walls, glowing like fire that’s spreading out of control. The music was thumping beats so low that the vibrations hurt Olivier’s chest, winding him and pounding his heart harder than Olivier can believe is healthy, he can feel the same beat jump through his brain, turning it to mush and making it that much more alert to everything around him.

The thing that separated this warehouse packed with people to the places Olivier would usually find himself was the distinct smell of blood that found itself a solid foundation underneath the sweat and alcohol. A constant reminder that this place was far from safe, and he could see the scars on people’s faces, as they stood against the walls like they were stuck there, watching each person like the cat that watches the mouse, waiting for it to move. Olivier could hear the metallic sound of knives and taste that same metallic sensation of blood in his mouth without even seeing it. That was the type of place he was in, and despite the people who raved with obliviousness around them, tension was a feeling inside every other person, including Oli. He had no clue why he was here, but the delirious side of him enjoyed this feeling. The sensible part told him to run, run so far away and never look back. Olivier has never been particularly sensible.

Granit is bathed in blood from the lights that soak his skin red. He looks apocalyptic, like he’s survived the battle only to have to fight another war. Oli licks his lips and keeps his eyes on the floor as he follows him faithfully. He follows until he stops, stood behind Granit as if he would be able to protect him from danger. The people here could kill both of them easily, with one arm. But then Granit was one of these people, Oli has to remind himself again and again, and that maybe he should underestimate what Granit may be capable of. He doesn’t know his past. He doesn’t know his present or his future either, he knows nothing.

It’s nervous energy that envelops each of the three people, the feeling radiating off Olivier and encompassing the rest of them. The third man is a giant, taller than a building, scaling upwards towards the sky and Olivier feels dizzy looking up at him so he chooses not to, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the gaze that burns his skin. Oli rubs his arms in the hopes of distinguishing the flames of the others glare. It doesn’t work.

“Who’s your new boy-toy?” the voice is gruff and deep and resounds in the room despite every single other noise and movement that sends Olivier’s senses into a flurry. Oli feels his stomach collapse into a pit of disappointment to hear he isn’t the first person Granit has brought along on these dangerous little adventures, but he diminishes that feeling quickly, nerves replacing it just as quickly as it had come. The man makes his way towards Olivier and he can feel his heart race and then stop completely as he is forced to look into the other’s eyes, a huge hand gripping his jaw like a crab claw thing.

Granit whacks the hand away determinedly, and Oli is worried for his life just as much as his own. He is surprised when he sees the man step away under Granit’s gaze. Maybe he has more power than Olivier had once thought. “I wouldn’t touch him if I was you,” Granit hissed, possession sparking a new flare in his eyes, and Oli wants to grin, but he expects such a thing gets you in trouble in a place like this, so he keeps a straight face and looks at the other man, who looks equal parts put-off as much accepting of this fate. Oli can feel he can relax, that Granit has everything under control in this place, in this moment.

He raises his hands in apology, though he doesn’t look particularly apologetic in that moment, “You know where you need to go, doubt the big man will be happy with you bringin’ another visitor though,” and there he goes again, another and new, it was like this man was saying these things on purpose to rile Oli up. Olivier wasn’t special and never would be to Granit. Still he stuck to his side as if he could be something to him.

Granit laughs at the others statement, turning around and starting to walk away, a departing statement announcing, “Boss loves it when I bring em’ down,” and Olivier gives a final glance over his shoulder before following Granit faithfully into the masses of people, all congregated together and Oli could see between each group of people the glint of a knife or gun. He had to keep wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into, and why he volunteered to be in a place such as this one. Was all this really to gain some sort of respect from Granit, because so far it doesn’t seem to be working, as he strided forwards with no regard as to if Olivier was still behind him or not.

People don’t have a sense of spatial awareness in this place anymore, draping across Olivier as if they can, like they own him, a prized possession in a museum of zombies made out to be people. Olivier can’t walk in a straight line, he feels drunk but it’s just the way people sway around him, eyes glazed and dizzy. The whole room is compact, a claustrophobic feeling entering his chest. He looks up just to see people watching him from all sides, so he looks down again. It seems that people know him, and he just wants to be absorbed into the crowd, even as Granit is leading him out. It only takes Olivier skipping to the right to avoid someone throwing up the minimum that they had digested that day for his eyes to look up and Granit to be lost within the movements of the crowd. Olivier tries not to lose his breath, tries to ignore the rising anxiety in his chest and he pushes through the crowd in a somewhat familiar direction, in the hopes of catching up. He can’t have gotten far, he would be looking for me too, surely he’ll just be waiting on the outskirts of the crowd. Olivier thinks through every optimistic ending. The pessimistic one- he doesn’t see himself surviving a place like this without Granit somewhere nearby.

He ends up in the outskirts of the crowd, but no familiar faces are nearby. Oli whips his head around to look around in all directions, but the crowd seems to swell, pushing him against walls that were hollow under his fingertips, ready to collapse. He sucks in a breath, trying to make himself smaller in any way he could, suddenly tripping into a corridor he didn’t know existed, except he had been pushed in there by the crowd and there was no way out then with the way people lingered just outside the entrance. But there are only a few people actually in the dark corridor. Olivier can breathe again, leaning against the wall and trying to think straight again. He can feel his breathe, painful in his throat, and his brain grows hot at the blood that finally rushes back. Olivier can barely stand, but he just about does, with shaky knees.

The logical thing was to do was to leave, but Oli didn’t want to have to push his way through that crowd again, it was too big, a wave of people and Olivier didn’t want to drown. All corridors have to lead somewhere however, so Olivier follows it along, keeping one hand trailing on the wall as his only sense of reality in this senseless place. He keeps his eyes fixed on his feet, not wanting to get involved with anyone in this place. The whole hall only had the occasional working light, though most were flickering, the room turning yellow and then black again from the abstract lighting that changed each time he blinked. Olivier could hardly focus on his own feet, let alone the people in the room, the people approaching.

Olivier cringes when he bumps into someone, stepping on their toes, making them yell out of pain and shove Oli backwards harshly, so he only just manages to stay on his own feet. He can feel the air disappearing from the room as the man glares him dead in the eye, his expression foul, full of hatred. Olivier wants to close his eyes and pray for an escape from this place. He only closes them to blink away tears.

The man steps closer to him, his face showing an anger not meant for someone who just accidentally stood on your feet, no matter how much of a hard-ass someone may be, “I fuckin’ know you,” well that explains something, perhaps. Olivier shudders because it seems that it is only the two of them left in this corridor and he clenches his jaw to stop himself from yelling for help, because this guy didn’t seem happy to see him, “My cousin works for ya. Well he did until ya worked him to death, that is.” Olivier gulps, because he knows exactly what this is, exactly how much he paid the family for their silence, exactly how much CCTV footage was destroyed and the documents that were destroyed. He wiped a mans whole existence from the world and then he moved on too. He hasn’t thought about it in years. The past never leaves you alone forever, however.

“His blood is on your hands man, what d’you have to say about that?” He asks lowly, genuinely, as if he really wants to know Olivier’s view of the situation. And he probably does, but Olivier has no excuses. He knew the horrific conditions and he kept them that way, because it made him money and God he loves the sight of his bank account credit going up, the means were worth the matter to begin with. He changed it all with that incident, at least as much as he could whilst still keeping his salary the same. Olivier Giroud is a horrible person and it’s only _now,_ years after a person died, that he is realizing this.

Still Olivier stammers and wrings his hands together, he has nothing to defend himself with, “I, I, I… We make sure our current employees are treated with… with upmost respect,” he chokes out. Blood enters his mouth as his lip is split by his own teeth, and he deserves that. He deserves to bleed until he too dies.

The man scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, and Oli can’t believe himself either, “Yeah, well the man _you killed_ ain’t around to appreciate it, is he?” he’s hissing, seething anger, and Olivier is about to whimper and get on his knees and beg for forgiveness, to repair his moral grievances. Selfishness will have followed Olivier to the grave.

Oli stops however when he hears the familiar click, and he feels his whole body go frozen even as his mind screams for him to run. The heavy metal clangs against his head, an arm around his throat so there is no escape for him. He can’t move, can’t breathe. His mind is blank and eyes glazed and he already feels halfway dead before the bullet has had a chance to leave the gun. Olivier doesn’t dare breath lest that sets the gun off, he doesn’t move. He’s stood stock still, frozen like a statue and mind a flurry and oh god he wasn’t ready to die, not yet. He has nothing left to live for, he’s achieved every single one of his mediocre, basic goals, but he wasn’t ready to die.

“How much d’you think I’d get for ransom money eh?” the man speaks, his grip around Olivier’s neck tightening, letting him know this wasn’t his time to speak, so he shuts up, gnawing on his lip to avoid any sobs, his body shuddering and every little move felt momentous and his whole body was cold, any warmth being seeped up and into the gun itself, “Could get a nice lil sum, add it to that money ya paid us, for, well ya know,” every word the other speaks causes Olivier to ooze guilt, which slides over his skin and lands in great, thick puddles on the floor. Soon his own blood will join those puddles, leaving him to die a guilt-ridden man. It wasn’t the way he had ever believe he was going to go. Olivier wants to scream that he ever volunteered to come here, that he had walked into his own death, and that he was going to die a hated man.

Olivier bites through his lip, blood dribbling into his mouth and staining his teeth as he is suddenly pushed to the ground, gun following his head with laser-point procision, and pain shoots up his knees as he lands, but it is the least of his problems as he stares up towards the barrel of the gun. It was a dark void, it wreaked of death, and Olivier only felt cold and stiff at the concept. Maybe he truly deserves this? He’s an immoral, unjust, plainly awful person, and perhaps this is God finally punishing him for the wrongdoings he’s done. Perhaps he should have been expected something like this to come his way before. Is it weak the Oli is accepting his fate so readily, or maybe just smart. He has such a slim chance of surviving the situation he has put himself in, the only way he can see it is if he puts some sort of positive spin on it. Before he believed he deserved the money, but maybe now he is realising the truth of what he deserves now. Either way, Olivier is terrified and tears run down his face and he can still hear the music a couple hundred meters away, loud enough to cover a gunshot. Maybe he’ll never be found, maybe no one would notice his death. Maybe he was brought here by Granit just so he could be killed, an intricate, long winded plan set up by the only person Olivier cares about. He’d be getting a stab in the back whilst being shot in the head.

“Of course, I could just kill you now, just so you can get it. My guy was a nobody to ya and you felt no guilt did ya,” Olivier doesn’t move, doesn’t swallow, doesn’t reply, “Well just so you know, I don’t feel any guilt either,” he hears the click of the gun, closing his eyes tight and waits with baited breath for his inevitable downfall. He feels himself transcending into a dream state full of music he doesn’t like and voices he doesn’t understand, an empty void flickering between heaven’s light and hell’s darkness. It is unlikely he will ever escape this even in death as he waits and waits and…

Olivier hears the gun shot, the sound ringing in his ears in high pitch screams, as it echoes against the tightly-packed walls, until he can hear no more. He’s still alive.

He flings his eyes upon as if he’s seeing for the first time, scrambling backwards to lean against the wall as he sees the perpetrator, the gun clattering to the floor as the previous owner of it is toppled to the ground like a grand pillar, landing on his back, fear Olivier has never seen before in his eyes. It seems ridiculous, given everything he has been through, but it genuinely scares Olivier that Granit is able to cause such fear in a person. He is soon able to find out why, too.

“Are you fucking stupid,” Granit all-but screams, the sound only just puncturing Olivier’s ears above muffled white noise, straddling the man’s stomach as to keep him on the ground as he balls his hand into a fist and punches the other so hard he spits blood. Olivier can’t take his eyes away. “Do you not fucking think?” his voice is so louder, louder than the misfired gunshot, and he keeps hitting, over and over again. His face is that of a starving animal, completely rabid, unable to control himself any longer as he keeps dismantling the man below him. He’s gone fucking crazy, Olivier wide eyed and shaking as all he can do is helplessly watch, watch as the other man’s blood is spilling across the floor. He’d been knocked unconscious minutes ago, and Olivier is worried to think he could be dead. Another man’s blood staining his hands crimson red. All Olivier can hear is the sound of fists hitting skin, rapidly, repeatedly. A constant motion in the dizzying stratosphere, and suddenly Olivier has woken up.

He’s about to get up and stop Granit, finally do something under a good moral sector, this is a turning point is his life when he finally becomes the good guy. Except it’s too late and Granit is already getting up, he’s muttering under his breath and Olivier is hypersensitive to everything action and noise, his head pounding with the music and his overreactive heart. “Don’t you dare fucking touch him again,” he mumbles to the man who, if he is not dead, is most certainly unconscious. Olivier feels nothing but terrified as Granit walks over, his chest never releasing its constriction and he is ready to cry except Granit is looking at him with such an unnerving expression that all he can feel is stricken that he had managed to get caught up with such a guy.

Olivier is still sat, leant against the wall like a life line, a third leg that he needs to stay up right. Granit reaches a hand down for Olivier to take and help himself stand upright. It’s covered in blood. Olivier gulps, but takes it anyway, his skin absorbing the bright red and he has to lean against Granit to stay upright. In this world, the one in which he doesn’t belong, he is completely dependent on the other man. And Oli owes him now, Granit saved his life and Olivier owes him. His entire world has become a nightmare.

They walk in silence, Oli slowly gaining his legs back, Granit’s hands having stained Olivier’s jacket with the stark handprints, the type that will never wash away, a constant reminder of the type of person he had become. The type who leaves men bleeding and unconscious without a second thought. Oli hadn’t realisied how much he had changed in such a short span of time.

Granit is covered in sweat, sprinklings of blood covering his face. He looks feral, a wild dog in a civilised world, his hair is knotted and drenched, the veins in his neck stark under his skin, the underlying anger that is still present somehow showing through them, red hot anger running through his blood and contaminating his heart. Olivier would try desperately to romantiscize it, but he’s terrified. He now knows this man, and he really wished he didn’t.

Granit looks him in the eyes, the tension that follows worse than that of when he was looking into the eye of a gun. It’s been only minutes but that moment feels like years ago. Olivier wants to look away but he can’t. He’s enraptured by the look, all barriers gone to reveal nothing other than a rogue lion in a man’s world, claws now sheathed, but he is still just as deadly. Granit sighs, and he speaks with sarcasm dripping, sarcasm and something darker. Olivier understands him now, he knew everything about Granit was something a little darker, and he can’t trust, let alone respond, to a single word Granit says in fear of what would happen. He’s moving now, they’ve walked outside since, it’s a warm night, but Olivier is still frozen.

“So, you glad you came?”

-

Olivier didn’t know how this happened, but Granit is still in his house, still breathing his air and eating his food, still living life as if Olivier didn’t know to a certain extent of the activities of Granit, although he never found out where he had gone when Oli was ready to die. He nearly gave his life to know Granit’s life and he’s still just as clueless as before really. And Oli knows exactly how this happened, how the whole situation has been swept under the rug without explanation. Olivier is Granit’s little, easily manipulated, bitch.

And despite Olivier knowing exactly what was happening here, that all he was was a bank for Granit’s extremely shifty funds, he still kept Granit around, he still had feelings for Granit. Grossly distorted feelings with constant swings between love, hate, and everything in between, but feelings none the less. He didn’t want Granit to leave him, he didn’t want Granit to get hurt. Or, he wanted to throw him out so he can live his days in the mouldy dwelling of his apartments or in damp puddles of the street, wherever he ended up, and Olivier didn’t _want_ to care about what would happen to Granit, but oh God he did.

Of course, that made him an easy target for emotional manipulation. Through clouded confusion, Granit is the moon shining through, guiding the way. Except Olivier was being guided to a cliff edge, but he would jump anyway, he’d jump for Granit and that terrifies him. The man could kill someone, he’s so dangerous, but Olivier would still approach him even as he is sharpening his knife. He feels no fear and yet the nerves every time his eyes catches the others is more than the usual butterflies the average lovers would feel. Olivier is trapped in a cycle where his best option is to accept what is happening him and keep moving with what Granit wants whilst he pretends that is too what he wants. He’s too scared to do otherwise.

He doesn’t even truly know what he’s so scared of. Oli isn’t sure if he believes he could get stabbed in the back or pushed out the window, or if what he’s really scared of is losing Granit. For despite everything, Granit’s lips and touch and body are not something he can imagine his life without. He’s become an integral part of his entire life, from the moment they first met to this very moment, Granit asleep in Olivier’s arms whilst his mind tumbles haphazardly between adoration and anxiety. He looks so soft, head resting so lightly on his chest, Oli’s arm around his waist to hold him down tightly. Olivier doesn’t want to lose this either, he doesn’t want to be alone in the mornings when he eats his cereal, he wants someone to complain about each person he has the displeasure of working alongside. If Granit is manipulating him, he’s done it goddamn well, because Olivier doesn’t want him to leave, ever.

Granit mumbles in his sleep, never words you can make out, but he’s definitely speaking nonetheless. Oli smiles as he hears the familiar quiet grumbles, and Granit grips the hem of his shirt tight, as if he’d ever leave. Oli strokes his hand through dark strands of hair softly, Granit slowly waking up as the leg that had been draped across Oli’s retracts slowly, Olivier missing the comfortable warmth that Granit consistently emits immediately. Granit wakes up with a groan, stretching his arms above his head before collapsing back against Oli, eyes just about open. It’s around 3pm, but Granit’s body clock doesn’t work like the regular human being, and Oli has learnt to work around it. Has he ever mentioned that he’s Granit’s little bitch?

He kisses Oli’s neck delicately, leaning his hands on his chest and mumbling a sleepy good morning even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. Oli continues to stroke his hair, as Granit lazily sucked a mark onto his jaw line. They’d become horrendously domestic in the recent month or so, or at least as domestic as you can get with a drug-dealing-gang-member man. Olivier would never refer to Granit as his boyfriend, however. He was a thing to keep around, to entertain him, to give his life some sort of meaning outside of money. Oli was sure Granit thought the same type of thing about him, and he didn’t mind that really. They’d subconsciously made a deal about what their relationship was all about, and maybe Olivier did dream about Granit quitting his current life to become his trophy husband, but Oli is realistic to a certain extent, dreams are for sleeping, you’re supposed to forget them when you wake up.

Olivier pulls Granit up by the back of his head, earning an indignant whine, before he presses his lips softly to the other. Granit tastes disgusting and sticky, reminders of the night before staining his lips and absorbed into his tongue. They had drunk cherry vodka (Granit called Oli a girl for buying such a thing) and laughed and made out on the roof as the sun went down. They’d been set on fire until the moon came out and washed the flames away, Granit shoving Oli off with a laugh and leaving without a word. Like he always does. Olivier fucking hates the feeling in his stomach every time Granit leaves, the way his chest feels like it’s turning in on itself, creating a self-absorbed pit of pity. Olivier can taste the vodka but its masked behind unknown people and words. He wants to rip away those things so he can stop being ignorant for once in his life.

Olivier bites Granit’s lip harshly as an attempt, tugging at the skin so he lets out a muffled yelp, but Oli continues to attack his lips with this sudden ferocity, not caring when he tasted blood. He’d rather taste the pure warmth of Granit’s insides than the people he was with last night. Olivier lets the other squirm whilst he attacks his flesh, gnawing at the skin like he’s starved, like this is the last meal he’ll ever receive. Granit rumbles in equal measures discomfort and pleasure, as Oli had quickly found out that he enjoys the pain, and it scared him a little that he enjoyed causing the other pain too. He’s become a changed man with Granit around, and maybe he’s discovering himself, or otherwise this isn’t really who he is, but who he has become. Either way, he digs his nails into Granit’s ribs so they leave the crescent marks and adds bruises upon bruises on his neck and chest.

Granit grinds down on him, his boxers the only fabric covering his body. In fact, it was rare to see Granit wearing anything other than boxers, not that Oli would ever complain about it. It was a pleasant enough sight. Both of them moan in perfect harmony, Granit straddling his hips and pulling his shirt away, lithe arms flinging it over his head so it lands on plush carpet. He smirks in his signature way, smothers his tongue across Olivier’s chest, tasting every part of him with delicate precision. And despite everything they’ve done, this is the most intimate they’ve ever been, the slowest they’ve ever gone. It was like Granit was trying to savour this, like he was considering leaving. Oli felt too good to be sad at that moment, his eyelids fluttering as Granit nibbles his skin and grinds against him lightly, just so he can get a taste of friction before it’s lost again. 

“Can I ride you?” Granit asks, his lips brushing Oli’s stomach as he speaks, and Olivier’s fingernails grip deeper into the others waist at the words, a pitiful groan breezing through his lips.

He forces Granit’s lips on his own, except little muscle power is needed for that, as Granit will hungrily take every kiss and touch he’s given. Oli pulls him back however, resting their foreheads together delicately, “What makes you think I’d say no,” he mumbles, smirking. Granit laughs and so does he. He feels complete.

“You did deny a blowjob once,” Granit reminds, with a smirk much wider than Oli’s, and he rolls his eyes, embarrassment flaring in his cheeks. That day seems a million years ago.

Olivier kisses the tip of Granit’s nose with a smile, “I was young and naïve, allow it,” he mumbles, and Granit’s eyes flare bright, actual, real happiness shining within. If he could, Olivier would pause the world in this moment, just so he could live it to the end of his days.

But the happiness disappears and lust replaces it, Granit grinding in Oli’s lap one last time before he moves off, kneeling at Oli’s feet as he removes the sweatpants Oli had been wearing, with nothing underneath them. Sunlight streams through the windows, setting the plain white walls alight with a heavenly glow as Granit chooses to prep himself, probably for speeds sake. The juxtaposition between the glow that surrounded them and the image of pure filth before him was the type of contrast Olivier was sure you had to be dead before you could experience. Granit has his head thrown back and his lip between his teeth as he works himself with his fingers, he looks like a work of art, the type that only the artist sees, too good for the rest of this cruel world to see. Granit purposely lets his moans echo across the room, whimpering Oli’s name before he’s even inside him and it might be over-extravagant, but Oli loves it anyway.

“You good?” Oli asks, voice choking out even though he wished to sound nonchalant, and he leans forward to roll a condom on his own cock, wrangling the lube out of Granit’s tough grip, from where he’d had to hold onto anything to stop himself being pushed over the edge. He had to keep some sense of stability, of where he was and who he was. Or at least that’s what Oli believes, it probably just happened to be in his hand in all reality. And Granit nods in mitigated movements, removing his fingers with tiny whimpers emitting from rose red lips, Oli now well aware of the thorny words they can produce now. He used to feel the aching pinpricks, but now he has hardened to the niggling pain in his heart that Granit can produce. He wouldn’t let that control him.

Granit’s breath puffs out in a disjointed rhythm, crawling up Oli’s body so his knees are either side of his waist. He looks like a marble statue come to life, carved to perfection, chest rising and falling with extricated movements as he positions himself and Olivier, until he slowly sinks down on him. Oli bites his lip to avoid any embarrassing noises emitting, and he places his hand over Granit’s, who’s nails were digging savagely into his hip bone. Oli laces his fingers through Granit’s, and he can feel his nails retract as his whole body relaxes, a sigh blowing through his lips as Oli strokes his thumb across the back of his hand. Everything about this time felt different, he waits with baited breath for the same animalistic qualities to overcome either of them, as it always does. But that doesn’t happen as Granit begins to rock his hips, movements minute but Oli has always been oversensitive, each rolling movement a wave crashing against the rocks. He lets out a choked cry as Granit finds his rhythm. He can feel himself drowning.

Granit looks a piece of work, something out of pure fiction, towering above him. Dark hair is slick with sweat, pressed against his forehead, Oli wanted to reach up his free hand to thread his hand through, just to feel it, just to know every part of Granit. He decided against it though, his free hand gripping Granit’s hip with an immovable force, the skin underneath his fingertips softer than clouds, smoother than water, Oli never wanted to let go. Oli’s eyes travelled from Granit’s hair to his lips, hung apart as permanent moans whispers through them. His teeth glint in the sunlight, everything about Granit was blinding. He continually took in every part of Granit’s body he could lay his eyes on. Tense arms, trembling thighs, throbbing cock. Olivier wanted to touch it, feel his rock hard cock in his hand, but Oli’s mind was going fuzzy as Granit moved deeper and faster, unaware of his previous conflicts that had suddenly left his mind.

And it was in that moment that the control he had had completely left his mind, and his hips snap upwards to meet Granit, back arching, eyes tightly closed because his brain cannot possible be able to comprehend both Granit’s beautiful face and body whilst receiving insurmountable pleasure on his cock. Granit cries out a little louder at the sudden extra pressure, his hips continuing their rolling motion, except this time a little bit faster, a little bit more erratic, “You absolute bastard!” he cries, and Oli would be concerned if Granit wasn’t dictating the rhythm, “Fuck you! Fuck you, you’re too fucking good Oli, fuck fuck fucking look at me!” He snaps, voice so fucked, each word a drabble Olivier knows he can’t control anymore, “Fucking admire me you piece of shit!” he screams as Oli snaps his hips up with even more ferocity, and he cracks his eyes open to see Granit’s whole body blushed red, a perfect shade of fire. He’s perfect.

Olivier pushes himself upwards, as much as he could whilst not breaking the indescribable pleasure he was feelings, and he pulled Granit down, hand finally in his hair as he crashes their lips together, the sensation of teeth clattering together sending a stinging pain into his skull, something which had become a solid part of Granit and the person that he is. But both of them are breathless within seconds, pulling apart, but with a trail of saliva still attaching the two of them, “You’re fucking beautiful, you drive me crazy,” Olivier whispers, broken and disjointed but still audible, and Granit moans at those words alone as Oli falls back to lie on the bed. It’s closest they’ve come to talking about their real feelings, but Olivier doesn’t realise that in the moment.

“Son of a bitch,” Granit whines, and Oli could’ve laughed then, if he wasn’t losing control, his eyes tracking Granit’s feautures like a laser pointer at his request, “I’m close, I’m so close,” he pants out, Oli could see the sheen of precum on Granit’s dick to confirm this, he wanted to taste him, he wanted to do so much more. He clamped his hand on the wrist of Granit’s hand that wasn’t being held by Oli so tightly circulation was becoming a thing of the past, as it was moving towards his cock. He pulled the hand back down to his side, Granit glaring at him indignantly, still managing to muster up an expression like that despite the situation at hand.

Oli smiled back up at him, trying to look innocent, but it was hard when he too was so damn close, “You gonna come untouched baby? You do that for me?” he asked, his voice high and overtly pleading, and any sense that Granit was in control of himself was demolished, somehow managing to push Oli deeper inside of him, much to Oli’s own satisfaction.

It didn’t take long then, a couple of forceful thrusts upwards from Oli and Granit was left choking, crying Oli’s name like a prayer for forgiveness, a chant to his only god. He writhes above Olivier, his skin golden and shining like the sun, striped white as cum covers his stomach and Olivier gives one final push and he comes too, a wash of relief surfacing across his brain and he rumbles his praises in a purr as he comes, Granit panting, his movements stuttering and stopping, Oli following suit at the same tempo.

Granit was barely able to move afterwards, the only sound in the room being their slowing breaths as he collapses like a tower on Oli’s chest, hot, heavy and sweaty. Olivier burned in every place their skin touched, the heat from both their bodies mingling together to create a furnace hot enough to melt diamonds. It was perfect. They were perfect. Olivier leans forward, kisses the top of Granit’s head as he dozes off once again.

Olivier is sure he’s in love.

-

Olivier paces his living room like a lost dog, but he can’t help it anymore. Ever since his little revelation, that had felt so casual before, had come crashing down on his conscious, he couldn’t help but feel worried every time Granit left at night. That’s what love was, right? Feeling insanely scared for the safety of the other, wanting to swaddle them in cotton and never let them get in danger again. Three nights ago, Granit had returned with a black eye, last night a cut that would scar ran along his cheek. Olivier didn’t want him to live like this, and he didn’t want to have this fear either. Oli didn’t want to lose Granit, but he didn’t want to have this part of him in his life anymore. It may have been exciting to begin with, but it was affecting him negatively now, he can’t imagine what it must be like to actually be living it.

He didn’t dare have the lights on for when Granit returns, he’d witnessed too many overly blood scenes and it was better to experience them in the three am darkness, where life seemed to be lived in black and white and they can pretend the world isn’t real as Olivier attempts to fix up any injury Granit may have obtained. Oli had had to invest in medical supplies in recent weeks.

It was approaching four am when the loud bangs that announced Granit’s arrival were heard, Olivier hopping from the kitchen to where Granit stood in the middle of the living in fleeting movements. As far as injuries have gone, Olivier has seen a lot worse. The very first time this happened Granit had arrived with a busted nose that took weeks to recover under Olivier’s tentative care. Granit never lets him take him to the hospital, and he knew it was because of drugs, not money, after all Granit knew Oli would pay for him in a heartbeat. Tonight, however he just has a small amount of blood dribbling from his lip and a deeper graze above his eyebrow. Olivier sighed and picked up the medical kit that had found itself a permanent place on the coffee table. This happened too damn often.

But wordlessly the two of them sit on the somewhat pristine white sofa, minimal blood stains making its way on it, miraculously. That one sofa is worth more than the entirety of Granit’s possessions. They sit face to face as Olivier carefully wipes away the blood from around his mouth, “I do wish you would stop this business,” he mumbles under his breath, Granit wincing as Oli rubs antiseptic onto a graze on his chin, then snorting at his statement as if it were truly ridiculous. A lot of what Oli says gets discarded.

“Whatever mum,” Granit says with a smirk, rolling his eyes and then squeezing them tight when Oli applies the same antiseptic to the cut above his eyebrow, and Oli had to stop himself from laughing, knowing that that wouldn’t be appreciated.

Instead he continues to so delicately apply a plaster to his forehead, much bigger than it needed to be, but Oli didn’t know what he was doing really, and bigger was always better. “I’m serious, ya know,” he whispers as he smooths the plaster down, “I don’t like seeing you like this, I don’t like having to do this,” he keeps his voice soft and warm, in any attempt to not set Granit off, to try and keep tension and tempers low. But Granit’s blood is made of lava and it doesn’t take much for him to erupt. He narrows his eyes towards Olivier, but keeps his voice steady. It feels more deadly than yelling.

“I never once _asked_ you to do this, yeah?” Granit hissed, words grave and Olivier was ready to accept his death, “ _You_ were the one who asked me to stay, ‘member?” And in all honesty, he doesn’t remember. Maybe he said something once, in a drunken haze, had let Granit into every aspect of his life. And of course, why would Granit refuse, that would be ridiculous. Olivier is a vessel to Granit’s dream life, but he was sick of being just that, a vessel, he wanted to be the change in Granit’s life. He wanted to save him, or something like that. He was sure that would be possible.

Oli sighed, trying to find the right words, but in the end his tongue overtook his mind, “I don’t want you getting hurt anymore, okay? I don’t want to have to deal with all this, alright?” he says, raising his voice even though he didn’t want to, he just doesn’t know how else he can fight his corner other than making himself the biggest, loudest person in the room. So, when Granit stood up, so did he, just to make himself the physically bigger person in the room, as if that could win an argument with Granit Xhaka.

Instead he glares up at Oli with a ferocity that’s never been directed towards him before, and he knows this isn’t the worse Granit can get. Oli has seen his worse. “You just want to change me. I’m not exciting anymore to you, I’m just a burden. I don’t fit your perfect image so now you want me to fuck off. Well you can fuck off mate!” His voice rings in Oli’s ears, and no that’s not what he meant and, oh god this is going the wrong way and Granit’s going to leave and Oli doesn’t want him to leave he really really doesn’t.

“I just want you to be safe. Whatever you do, and I don’t care what it is you actually do, but whatever it is is so unsafe. I just don’t want you getting hurt and, oh god, listen okay. I think I love you and I can’t lose you I cant, not yet,” Olivier rambles, the words rattling out his mouth before he even realises what he’s saying. It’s only when he looks back up at Granit that he realises his mistake, all blood drained from his face so he looks like a ghost in this black and white film. Olivier can’t breathe, and he thinks his heart may have stopped.

Granit slaps his hands on his face gently, as if to wake him up from his own shock, before shaking his head wildly and taking a few steps back, “No no no no, you can’t do this to me Oli. You can’t guilt trip me with this love bullshit. That’s not fair Oli, it’s not fair!” His stomach’s dropped and his whole mouth is a desert and this is the worst mistake of his life. The first time Olivier has told the truth and it’s the worst mistake of his fucking life.

He shakes his head. He needs to fix this, he can’t let this go, “Wait no,” he waves his hands in the air as if he’s trying to wipe away his previous mistake, “Forget I said anything, just forget it all. I just, I want you to stay. Please stay.” He doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to show emotion because it would seem emotions is what’s broken them. But he’s never had any self control either, and his eyes burn, but he blinks the tears away anyway.

Granit looks torn, rubbing a hands down his face slowly. But Oli knows him, that if he’s trying to get something from Oli, he’ll choose sadness. When he’s happy, he’s euphoric, to the point Oli can’t keep up, can’t understand. It’s rare, those fleeting moments, Oli always makes sure to appreciate them. But Granit’s emotions have no undefinable range. It’s one extreme to the other, like the time he couldn’t open a jaw so he smashed it against the counter, glass ripping his hands apart, blood spilling on white marble whilst he screamed. When Granit wasn’t sure what to do, he got angry, and tonight was no different.

“I ain’t your possession, mate. You can’t fucking decide when you want me and when you don’t, I never gave you permission for that, did I?” He’s seething, he could be frothing at the mouth. Oli will feel lucky if he survives this, “Just cause I won’t be your trophy husband you can show off to the other rich fuckers you associate with, it doesn’t mean I’m not worth something. I’m worth more than your tiny one-track mind can comprehend, asshole.”

Olivier gulps, but that can’t be the end of this conversation, Granit’s turning away, but Oli won’t let him. Maybe he is the bad guy here. He strides forwards and grips Granit’s arm, so tight like the feeling in his chest. He never wants to let go. He pulls Granit back, him landing so they are chest to chest, nose to nose, and for once Granit doesn’t speak. But Oli doesn’t know what to do, the words have left his brain, a void replacing his mind, sucking him into a distant world that he doesn’t want to live in. He doesn’t know what to do so he just kisses Granit, remnants of blood from activities Oli doesn’t care to know plummeting him back down to Earth.

It’s not a good kiss by any standards. It’s reluctant and forced, Granit staying stony, but Oli wants this to work, needs this to work so bad. It feels hopeless, Olivier’s emotions draining from his body as he tries to make Granit understand, but he doesn’t know if he ever will. It’s over but Olivier still tries to believe in something. This is all he has. Granit never pulls back though, and eventually he opens his lips and Oli can’t help but let the tears fall, because he feels relief was over him like he’s performed a miracle that has actually worked like they rarely do. Granit pulls back and he still looks lost, Oli hopes he finds himself with him. They can discover themselves together. Granit is the one who makes Oli realise who he really is, he hopes it’s the same vice versa.

Granit runs his fingers through the hair at the back of Oli’s head, resting his forehead on Oli’s chest and not looking Oli in the eyes as he spoke, probably out of embarrassment. Granit didn’t like people knowing his vulnerabilities. “Fine, I’ll stay,” he utters, the words coming out harsher than intended, “But don’t think these means I love you or anything. I’ll never love you.”

And somehow, that’s enough for Olivier.

-

It took five days for Olivier to figure out Granit wasn’t coming back.

He was sure after their argument they were fine, it was a rough patch to overcome. Granit had smiled so delicately and kissed Olivier so softly that his head was sent spinning, and despite his words, Olivier thought maybe he could convince Granit to love him anyway. He was wrong.

He’d awoken to a cold bed, Granit must have left hours before, and this was the first time Olivier had woken up alone since Granit had unofficially (officially? Olivier never understood the terms) moved in. But he thought nothing of it, because why should he. Granit wasn’t his possession, he had to remember that. Maybe it was bad that he had to remind himself of that fact, but he was so desperate to have Granit as his one and only, and surely that can’t be a bad thing too?

Olivier had returned from the office he’d neglected so much recently to an empty apartment. It was strange how unnatural that felt, so quickly had he become used to the environment where someone else is always around, that there was always a presence. The apartment suddenly felt cold, too large, as if it stretched out for miles. Olivier turned on the tv to try and fill the space with a form of people, but the white noise of canned laughter had driven him insane after three days of loneliness. He can’t remember his life before Granit, what he did with his time, how he organized the furniture, if he picked his coffee mug up with his right or left hand. He’d lost pieces of himself and replaced them with relics of Granit. Now those had been ripped from his body and he is only half the man he used to be. He felt broken.

Day Five, that was when Olivier knew it was the point of no return. He no longer slept on the couch so he could be there for Granit to come back to. Olivier washed his sheets that day to remove the lingering scent of Granit that haunted his dreams during fitful sleep. He threw the medical kit out the window without waiting to watch where it landed. He wanted every part of Granit’s life wiped from his apartment, he wanted to forget he existed in the same microclimate as him.

But he can’t wipe his mind of memories. Everything hits him like a wave in the elevator or in his car and he pulls over and sobs until his stomach is sore and when his whole body is exhausted with sadness alone, eyes stinging and now rarely dry, throat scratchy from both crying and the fact he rarely speaks anymore. He has no one to talk to nowadays. His whole body is hurting and he never knew feelings could physically hurt this much. He’s never experienced anything like this. He wishes it could all end. He knows he’s being pathetic, he knows he should’ve expected this much from a person like Granit, but God, it really hurts. His heart stings and stutters and falters, until enough blood is in his brain for him to drive in a straight line again.

On Day Eleven, Oli nearly visited Granit’s own apartment. He hadn’t even realised he’d driven there until he had, he’d aimlessly zoned out on his way around the city, enjoying the way the streetlights blurred in his vision, the fact that no moon or stars were visible under a thick layer of fog. It related exactly to how Oli felt. Dark.

He never made it out the car. He didn’t even stop, drove straight past faster than what’s legal. He wanted to punch through his windshield, he wanted to punch himself for being so fucking naïve the whole time. Love had never been promised and love was never given, yet that’s all he can think of. He just keeps driving. The drive replaces his feelings for a while, a methodical shift even as he drives in silence. Change gear now, turn right there, don’t forget you fucking indicator. It was the only way he could make his mind go blank, completely numb. Otherwise he spends his whole days and nights thinking, rewinding situations, overplaying them where they turn out different. Oli hasn’t slept in days.

Olivier had lost count of the days by the time he began to forget. He knows Day Twenty Seven he deleted Granit’s number, along with all their texted. Day Fourteen he burnt all the clothes Granit had ever worn that he hadn’t taken with him the morning he left. Most of them were Oli’s. He threw all the random junk of Granit’s out the window, he didn’t give a shit about repercussions anymore. He didn’t give a damn. And then he worked, sometimes he drank, but mostly he worked.

And he earned and he spent and he lived, but sometimes he wanted to die, until he didn’t. Sometimes he wondered whether Granit was dead, until he stopped thinking about him completely. Occasionally he laughs, but he’s still alone. Sometimes he’ll hook up with people, and somehow it felt wrong. They were never in love, Granit only loved money and sex and drugs. Olivier learnt a lot from being with him. Mostly that people were worthless, useless, pointless creatures. And once he had realised that, loneliness was replaced with greed and sadness with desire.

Olivier didn’t feel human anymore, but that was okay too. He thinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't help but project my bipolar ass onto every character i write so um... sorry about that haha... also i never planned for Oli to like... be a manslaughterer which is why i just ended up brushing over that whoops. also i did plan to kill off Granit but decided that was too much... tho it is ambiguous if he's dead or not sooo... anyway thank you so much for reading as always my tumblr is fuck-football so hmu! imma feel so lost without this monster for a bit haha, but love u guys for reading and i'll see ya'll later xxxx

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about Oli or Granit finding this once and nearly threw up lol. You can follow my tumblr the  
> url is fuck-football :)


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